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PURPLE TINTS 



OF 



PARIS: 



CHARACTER AND MANNERS IN THE NEW EMPIRE. 



BY 



BAYLE St. JOHN, 

ATJTHOE OP 

; VILLAGE LIFE IN EGYPT f "TWO YEARS' RESIDENCE IN A LEVANTINE 

FAMILY," ETC. ETC. 



TWO VOLUMES IN ONE. 



NEW YORK: 
RIKEE, THORNE & CO., 129 FULTON STREET. 

M.DOCO.LIV. 






am 
"W. L. Shoemaker 
J S f 06 



JOHN F. TEOW, Pmoteb, 
49 Ann-street 



PREFACE 



I AM glad of the privilege of preliminary talk which 
a Preface affords. Like the few last words spoken 
at the window of a railway carriage by a traveller to 
the friends he leaves behind him, it gives an oppor- 
tunity of correcting or explaining, or adapting to 
altered circumstances, or enforcing more briefly and 
energetically, what has already been largely unfolded. 
When I undertook to describe the " Purple Tints 
of Paris," the Imperial awning had only just been 
thrown over the country, and seemed to flutter in the 
breezes that blew from all sides. My object was, 
not exactly to paint the influence a new Government 
may have already had upon the externals of society — 
not to record changes in ladies' head-dresses or gentle- 
men's coats — but to show what features in French 
character, what defects in French civilisation, mo- 
rality, and forms of thought, rendered an Empire 
possible. To a certain extent I may be admitted to 
have achieved this object; for I agree with all the 
great masters of history in tracing the fall of States 
to corruption of private manners and inefficient edu- 
cation. 



IV PREFACE. 

Do any Imperial tints flush over the surface of 
our own society? Is there sufficient ignorance and 
depravity to render it possible that we should ever 
fall back under — no matter what form of Government, 
and cease to assume the conduct of our own affairs ? 
I think not, because, although there is a party, long 
identified with the support of arbitrary principles, 
that endeavours to obstruct teaching, all the intellect 
of the nation seems engaged in elaborating or recom- ' 
mending schemes by which those who do not know 
may be made to know. Such a spontaneous move- 
ment has never taken place in France, where the 
tendency is always to deprive individuals of the duty 
and the privilege of thought. From the charge of the 
mineral waters of Yichy, up to the task of education, 
the responsibility of everything is thrown upon the 
State. 

We must not, however, be too confident in the 
excellences of our own civilisation. Perhaps I have 
been away so much, in other moral and intellectual 
climates, that things very natural in themselves strike 
me as ludicrous or offensive. If I am not mistaken, 
the most obvious defect to be noticed in England is 
stiffness, physical and mental. It is this that leads 
foreigners into the strange mistake of supposing that 
we are without passion, whereas there is no nation 
more impulsive and impetuous. Are we obliged to 
be starched and bridled lest we should develop into 
unimaginable antics? Possibly — in the absence of 
a better kind of restraint. Until this be found, 
England will remain a cheerless place — with all her 
unsurpassed virtues — a kind of Miss Ophelia among 



PREFACE. 



nations, requiring close acquaintance to awaken any- 
thing like love. I shall endeavour to set down some 
of the observations that suggest themselves to me on 
English aspects in a little publication projected by a 
circle of friends— which I take this opportunity of 
advertising — to be called, somewhat oddly, "Utopia." 
Is it not better to lead the people in search even of a 
visionary good than to allow them to forget — like so 
many Lotophagi — over the nauseously sweet food 
now set before them, that to-day should be but a 
stepping-stone towards to-morrow ; whilst to-morrow, 
perhaps, they will find no footing and sink — no : be 
wafted, whither it imports them to inquire ? 

I do not apologise for introducing extraneous 
matter into my Preface, because I know that such 
things are only read by the few who^like to draw a 
little nearer than usual to the writer by whom they 
are informed or amused. I always thus reward my- 
self by anticipation for the labours of authorship ; 
for it is some reward to know, or to believe, that 
simultaneously all round a circle — no matter how 
restricted the diameter — your written words beget 
thoughts in many minds with whom you never may 
commune otherwise. Writers who select more ele- 
vated themes, or begin in a higher key, can afford to 
dispense with this confession ; but an Essayist, who 
is obliged to record his impressions as well as his 
experiences, and to introduce the reader as it were to 
the fire-side of his thoughts, must endeavor to be 
affably familiar. 

In the present case, though I have set down a 
variety of observations on Paris that may be thought 



VI PREFACE. 



trifling or superfluous, I have been compelled some- 
times to discuss the gravest subjects that can occupy 
the pen. 

These volumes were planned, and in great part 
written, before circumstances forced England into 
active alliance with the Emperor of the French. 
They now seem to me to have acquired an additional 
and adventitious interest. Previously, in as far as 
my observations assumed a political character, they 
were in part intended to keep alive generally that 
spirit of opposition to arbitrary government — whether 
usurped or exercised by inheritance ; that is, usurped 
in another age — which forms the essential ally of 
public opinion in a free country. At present, we are 
menaced with a great danger. Interest is whispering 
corrupt things to our reason and our conscience ; 
and because we have need of one Autocrat to fight 
against another, some are willing to be persuaded 
that tyranny may be odious on the banks of the 
Neva and yet admirable on the banks of the Seine. 

These opinions are as absurd as they are unne- 
cessary. We are no more bound to feel or affect 
admiration for the principles or the person of the 
French Emperor because our fleets are at present 
combined with his, than we are to be in ecstacies 
with the forms of Turkish administration because it 
is our policy to prevent Eussia from stealing another 
portion of the Ottoman dominions. In England — a 
country that prides itself, as I have hinted, on its cold- 
ness — there is, however, a great fund of ill-regulated 
enthusiasm, ready to flow with huge clamour and 
billowing towards the feet of any representative of 



PREFACE. Vll 

Power. Unless my recollections greatly deceive me, 
the present Czar of Kussia was received with accla- 
mation in England during his last visit : that loath- 
some monster, Ibrahim Pasha, was made the pet of 
polite circles ; and I do not believe that anything 
with a crown on its head, or the title of Prince at- 
tached to its name, ever failed to excite noisy applause 
from the street-walking public. If a detested General, 
by imprudently putting himself in contact with a 
more genuine class of the community, did provoke 
an outburst of feeling, he was well compensated by 
expressed sympathy from all "respectable" quarters 
— the same that tried to "pooh-pooh" the popular 
demonstrations in favour of Kossuth. 

"We must, therefore, take into account this ser- 
vile tendency, which shows itself in alliance with 
the same greedy curiosity that prompts people to 
run after Aztec Indians, Devil-Kaisers, and other 
quackeries, in explaining the partial favour with which 
the name of Louis Napoleon is now received. But 
it is chiefly in a sort of affectation of policy that the 
cause must be sought. Sycophancy, however, will 
find itself mistaken. The Emperor of the French 
— eminently a man of one passion, the love of 
power — will be influenced in his actions neither by 
praise nor by blame. As long as he finds it useful to 
co-operate with this country he will co-operate, regard- 
less alike of criticism and adulation. Nothing that is 
said on our side of the Channel will have any other 
effect than to influence the formation of our own 
modes of thought, the direction of our own specula- 
tions. To teach the people that power sanctifies him 



PJFiEFACE. 



who obtains it, no matter by what means — that suc- 
cessful administration atones for any guilt — that we 
may properly cling to liberty ourselves, and rejoice 
when our neighbours lose it — is certainly a dangerous 
attack on the idea of right, an effective pleading for 
the doctrine of expediency, but still more certainly 
will never retard, by one single day, any project of 
Aggression or Desertion — if such project be enter- 
tained on other grounds. 

I think that our line of conduct and argumeut is 
very clearly laid down by circumstances. We should 
avoid as much as possible any personal attacks on the 
Chief of the French State, — any attempt to penetrate 
into his private life, — any temptation to repeat unne- 
cessarily the withering charges which both opponents 
and spectators brought forward at the most decisive 
period of his history. Yet endeavours to exalt him 
into a pure benefactor of his country, to confound him 
with a Washington or an Antonine, to extenuate his 
crimes or metamorphose them into virtues, must be 
met with the materials which we have at hand. I have 
done my best to steer a middle course, — to judge rather 
of the politician than the man ; but I feel that indig- 
nation has sometimes carried me away, — not beyond 
the bounds of truth — I have never reached them, — but 
beyond what I conceived at the outset to be a tone in 
harmony with a description of manners and an analy- 
sis of national character. There are topics which the 
mind cannot approach without being heated. There 
are times when moderation must be hypocrisy. 

However, if I have been very severe anywhere, it 
is against the French nation, or rather the educated 



PREFACE. IX 

and wealthy classes which affect to represent it. There 
is no possibility of giving an explanation of what has 
recently occurred, — in fact, of any great historical event 
since 1789, — without going upon this ground, that, for 
reasons which it is not my province now to develop, 
the upper classes in France, whether they be called 
Noblesse or Bourgeoisie, have proved themselves in- 
competent for government, and altogether unworthy 
of respect and confidence. It seems fashionable, among 
persons who are fonder of rhetoric than fact, to con- 
jure up some hideous monsters from mythological Fau- 
bourgs, — men whose business is revolutions, whose de- 
light is in emeutes, who appear only when society is in 
peril, and who are ever ready to fall upon and tear 
it to pieces. All this is very childish. If there be 
classes permanently desirous to engage in overthrow- 
ing a Government, that is a plain proof that the Gov- 
ernment must be very bad indeed. Any one who at- 
tends for a moment to the mode of life of a workman 
in tolerably full employment, will understand at once 
that he cannot spend his time even in supporting laud- 
able schemes. The necessities of the day absorb nine- 
tenths of his attention. If, however, by a wasteful 
system of government, and an unjust distribution of 
taxation, you weigh so heavily upon him, that, with 
the utmost willingness, he cannot avoid misery ; if you 
answer his complaints by quotations from Political 
Economy, which always goes on the supposition that 
there are no artificial laws, by favour of which some 
are comfortable and others not, — a supposition untrue 
in any country ; if you excite and take advantage of 
1* 



PREFACE. 



his enthusiasm one day, and then restrict political 
power to the classes which he regards as his natural 
enemies ; if you are ruthlessly savage in punishing his 
outbreaks ; if you surround him by every restriction, 
every difficulty, every annoyance that a police com- 
posed of thief-takers can invent ; if you give satisfac- 
tion to none of his ideas, and base your policy on prin- 
ciples which he detests — why, then it is absurd to com- 
plain that he should seize the opportunity of toppling 
down a dynasty in 1848, and for some time afterwards, 
tormented by vague desires, fears, and jealousies, which 
those in power excited rather than allayed, be ready 
to appeal to arms with or without reason. However, 
the restless classes were, at length, calmed down, al- 
though still none of their opinions were complied with. 
They prepared to exert the privileges which the con- 
stitution had given them, and began educating them- 
selves in the machinery of elections. Instead of making 
some concessions — as I believe even the most bigoted 
party would have done in England — the Eeactionists 
in France struck off the list of voters nearly three mil- 
lions of the men who had elected them ; and impu- 
dently announced their intention of carrying on the 
government with " the purified lists." What people 
affected to anticipate with so much alarm as " the fatal 
year 1852," was nothing but the chance that the ex- 
cluded classes, I cannot think very improperly, should 
carry out their threat of voting in spite of the law that 
had robbed them of a right which they had gained by 
some hard fighting. Of course, such an attempt might 
have led to very serious disturbances; but who would 



PREFACE. 



have caused them, if not the party and the classes 
which had endeavoured to confiscate political power 
for their own profit ? On this stupendous blunder was 
the success of the present Emperor based. With won- 
derful knowledge of the French character he assisted 
in passing the disfranchising law, and then, at a mo- 
ment chosen by himself, proposed to repeal it. At 
the last hour wisdom came not to the governing classes 
in France. They persisted,, and were deservedly pun- 
ished. Every working man who did not vote for the 
Emperor from fear did so from a respectable, though 
unenlightened, gratitude ; and this is partly the reason, 
combined with certain velleities of Socialism, why he 
has become the instrument of the wrath of the Lower 
against the Upper Orders of Society. The people, at 
any rate, find some consolation for their disaster in be- 
holding the politicians who believed that, without 
them, the world would not go round, entirely set aside, 
or banished, or ordered to remain within doors, or pun- 
ished by the ignominy of pardon. 

Prophecies are dangerous things to deal in, and I 
always avoid them if possible. However, I can scarce- 
ly conclude these remarks without saying that the 
hopes which seem to be entertained in France by cer- 
tain relics of ancient parties — ancient and condemned — 
that another chance may be given to any members of 
the old reigning family, have no visible foundation. 
That family, in both its branches, has had opportuni- 
ties enough. A nation cannot afford to be always re- 
storing its kings. History, moreover, would become 
too monotonous. The probability, then, is, that Na- 



xil PREFACE. 



poleon III.— who has more talent and knowledge than 
a whole dynasty of princes of that effete kind, and per- 
haps quite as much virtue — will reign until the French 
nation, in sober sadness, once more sets about the task 
of constructing a Eepublic. 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER I. 

Hasty Conclusions— First Impressions — Old Acquaintance with France— My Pre- 
judices—French and English—Limits of the subject— Egotism— New Streets — 
Changes in the Aspect of Paris — War against old Names — Great Battles and Na- 
tional Prejudices — "Waterloo — Counter-criticisms — Spoils of Conquest — Historical 
Amenities— Public Works and Communism— English Opinions— Our Country- 
women scolded — Beauty and Influence of Paris .... 1 



CHAPTER II. 

Exiles from the Capital — An atrocious Provincial — English Ladies — Beautiful Cli- 
mate—A Cloudy Day at Marseilles— The Country of Fogs— Coal and Charcoal — 
Dingy London— The Seine — Paris a Seaport— Floating Baths— Advantages of 
Modesty— Athletic Exercises — Promenades— The Ringdoves of the Luxembourg — 
Private Gardens— Flowers— Commissionaires— Omnibuses— Dearth of Talk— Cab 
Regulations — Umbrellas and Washerwomen — Street Noises — National Airs — Emi- 
gration of Organs — Newsmen — their Persecutions — Street Police — " The Guard " — 
Patrols— Learned Police — Political Crimes ..... 15 



CHAPTER III. 

The Reader introduced to my Lodgings— Moving — Economy of a Paris House — 
Cheerful Streets — M. Mery in a Passion — Madame Joseph — Duties of a Porter — 
Arrangement of a Furnished Lodging— Cheapness— French and English Com- 
forts — Surveillance of the Police — Suicides — M. Proudhon— the Porter and the 
Lodgers — Unsettled Population— Commentary on French Manners — Personal 
Observations— Rents . . ■ . . . . . 28 



XIV CONTENTS. 



CHAPTEE IV. 



French and English — Mutual Ignorance — Celts and Anglo-Saxons — Our Country- 
men Abroad — Beards — Beau ideal of an Englishman — Londoners at Boulogne — 
Politeness — Odd Prejudices — Sight-seeing — How to collect Information — French 
Mistakes — International Sharp-shooting — A Cockney at Table — Yulgarity — The 
Pocket Dictionary — Scene of Eeconciliation — The Sabbath — Morality and Im- 
morality . . . . . . • . . 41 



CHAPTER V. 

Our judgments on the French— The " fickle " Nation — Historical Parallels— Our 
Mobility — Jokes on the French — Eoutine in Literature— Friendships— Eeligion 
— Wars of Conscience— M. Mignet— Deliberative Assemblies — Aversion to Travel 
— Nostalgia — Female Emigrant — Our Eoughnessess — National Dislikes — A bluff 
old Sailor — Liberty and Equality — A Legitimist Confession — Political Sympathies 
— Trees of Liberty— Plantation of Crosses — Absurdities of Fanaticism . 52 



CHAPTEE VI. 

National Enmities— Manners— Ignorance of the French about England — Popular 
Notions and Delusions — Our Eating and Drinking — No Vegetables in England — 
M. Viardot's Misfortune— Shepherds — English Women — M. Chateaubriand — 
Criticism — Our Literature — We have no good Writers — Mr. Macaulay — Eeputa- 
tion, how made — The language of Birds — Curious Check to Population — Napo- 
leonic Ideas— Strike of Engineers— Feeling towards England— Our Mission— M. 
Toussenel — Thistlewood— Bethnal Green— Great Exhibition — Contempt— Tele- 
graphic Signals— French and Humanity— Why the French despise our Nation — 
Analysis of the Spirit of Mockery— Humiliation of France— Chamfort and De 
Tocqueville . ... . . . . . . 64 



CHAPTEE VII. 

Arrival in France— June, 184S— The Constitution— Cavaignac — The Presidency — The 
Coup oVEtat— Why it took place— Travelling Englishmen— The French Upper 
Classes— Outside of French Manners— A Soiree— Eules thereof— Female Costume 
— Influence of the Empire — Napoleon III. at Compiegne — Symbolic Hats — The 
Noblesse — How to disperse Emeutes — Gentlemen of the Old School — Conversa- 
tion — Piety — Brilliant Talk— A Wit Analysed— Great Men of Society— A Fable — 
Fashionable Circles— Debility of the Old Governing Classes — The Cholera — A 
Countess — Definition of Society — Mission of Democracy — Terror of the Upper 
Classes — A Frightened Lady — Ignorance and Prejudices — Divine Institution of 
Eank— A New Aristocracy— Exaggeration of Political Economy — A Banker and 
his Wife— The Poor and the Eich . . . ... 76 



CONTENTS. XV 



CHAPTEE VIII. 

Classes of a People— The Students — Intellectual Gipseydom — The. University under 
the Empire — Anecdote of Napoleon's Nose— Political Influence of Students — How 
they become Eespectable — Aspirations for Luxury — The First Tear— A Fair 
Companion — Young Bachelors — My Chest of Drawers — Alexis — Landlords and 
Eent— Punning away — Philosophy of Non-payment— French Novels — Eeal Life 
—Influence of early Vagabondage — My Experiences ... 96 



CHAPTEE IX. 

Systematising — Boy Schools — Studies— Professors— Punishments— Precocious Colle- 
gians—Small Philosophers — A young Lovelace— Spoiled Children— Paul-Auguste 
—Parents and Children — Time of Schooling— Brothers and Sisters— Quiet Man- 
ners — Mode of Fighting — Diminished Pugnacity — Courage — Immorality— The 
University — Theory of Anarchy — Centralisation — A Promising Youth . 109 



CHAPTEE X. 
Observations on the University of France ..... 124 

CHAPTEE XL 

Eeading M«n— Celebrity — Public Libraries— The College of France and the In-, 
stitute— French Savans— Ignorance— French Language— Knowing Gentlemen — 
Geographical Blunders — The Mamelukes — Books of Travels— Political Economy 
—The Young Noblesse — How Knowledge is Lost— Eevolution of '89— Eelics of 
Barbarism — Property and Mind — Laws of Inheritance — Peasant Ignorance — The 
Electors— The Malforts and the Eibeaumonts— Literature in the Provinces — Skin- 
deep Civilisation ........ 140 

CHAPTEE XII. 

Agricole Passager— Country Proprietaires— A Student sent to Paris — Division of 
Property— Struggle for Distinction— Arduous Undertaking— Small means— Career 
of Agricole— His Affairs of the Heart — French Ladies— Passion and Genius- 
Seeking for Lodgings— Wilful Poverty— Eeminiscences of Fiflne— A Biographer 
— Fiflne, what — How Agricole was fitted out — First Day in Paris — His Expenses — 
Sufferings of poor Students— The Poor Bachelor in Paris— His Philosophy and 
Manners— His Eesources — Confession of the Poor Bachelor— Expenses of the Day 
—A Cremerie— Playing at Dominoes— Delights of Laziness— Object of Life— Su- 
perstitious Skeptic — Politics of the Poor Bachelor— The Conservative Citizen— M. 
Croquignole— Another Species— Atrocious Morality— Bad Books and Bad men — 
M. Croquignole's Den— A noisy Hotel— Seeing Life . . 160 



CONTENTS. 



OHAPTEE XIII. 



Cafe of the Eue du Bouloi — Cafes in general— Their Economy and Appearanco— 
Waiters— Cockneys abroad again— English and French Soldiers— Furniture of 
Cafes — Articles consumed — Habits of Customers — Beer — Sobriety of the French — 
Instances and Exceptions — Population of the Banlieue — A ferocious Pastry-wo- 
man — Political "Workmen — Drunkards' Association — Domino Players — Four ditto 
Gentlemen — The Cafe de la Eegence — Parasites of the Cafes — Their Habits and 
Character — Billiard-playing — La Poule — Cards — The Point of Honour — Gam- 
bling — Playhouses — Their Eestoration plotted — Frail Health of Morality — How to 
Demoralize a People — Acquaintances in Public Places — Police Agents — Inform- 
ers— Conspiring Spies— The Singing Coffee-houses— Applause forbidden — The Stu- 
dents disobey— Delphine— Songs sung— National Airs suppressed . 175 



CHAPTEE XIV. 

Further Account of M. Agricold— Poor Fifine— A Visit to Home — A prudent Girl 
— A. renewed Acquaintance— The Cremerie— A charming Woman— Fifine comes 
upon the Stage — Her Conversation— A Knot of French People — Madame Adele's 
Shop — A discreet Lady — The Neighbours — Talk of Butter and Cheese — Eggs — 
Stock of the Cremerie — Breakfasts — Fifine and Adele— Philosophy of Females- 
Formation of a Club— Eules and Eegulations— Alexis introduced — A New Candi- 
date— M. Petit— A Mysterious Character— Our Manners — Watching a Eival — Tom 
Pouce— Ludicrous Simplicity— Blackballing a Beard— The Man who lives upon 
Cremieres— I moralise— The Game of Consequences . . . 188 



CHAPTEE XV. 

The Brune Therese— An Arrival — M. X , a new Clubbist— Story of Madame 

Adele— Theory of Marriage — An Ideal — Political Economy — Early Marriages — 
Polygamy — The " Mistress " — Motives of Women — English Women — Why Girls 
go astray— Schmidt — The Infant Adele— The Blood— A Semi-adoption— Pride 
must have a fall— A Marriage de Convenance— Tradesmen's Wives— Why M 
X sought a Mistress— Conjugal Fidelity— Conflicting Passions— Life a Con- 
test — Virtue in France — Lax tone of Morality — Alexandre Dumas — Details of an 
Intrigue— French Wives — Severity of the Law — Hide-and-Seek Life — Its Conclu- 
sion—The Cigar-shop— Frontier-ground — The Students and the Middle Classes — 
Public Characters — Political Immorality — Villanous Theories — Progress of Virtue 
in Free States— Women of Nations we hate— Marie Antoinette and the Empress 
Eugenie ... . . .' . . . . 203 



CHAPTEE XVI. 

Women Educators of Youth— Their Influenee on Morality— A Trip to St. Germain — 
Beautiful Scene— Historical Associations— " Charlie " — Fifine and Chronology- 
Comparative Length of Life— A Fete-day— Country Amusements— Dancing- 
places— " Paying the Piper "—Odd Style of Performance— The Police— Degrees 



CONTENTS. XV11 

of Immorality — Public Balls, by whom frequented — Young Girls— How to make 
Acquaintance with a Grisette — Simple Tastes — The Old Story — Making Happy 
the present time — The Fair — "Wandering in the Forest — Eose the Prudent — Fiflne 
at fault — A Country Eestaurant — Difficulties — Fire-works — Eeturn to Asnieres — 
The Dancing-avenue— How the Grisette was created — She is not Defunct — Mr. 
Cockney at Meurice's— The Present and the Future . . . 221 



CHAPTEE XVII. 

The Grisettes not an " Institution "—The "Working Girl who has a Friend— Why she 
takes him— Her Eivals— The Lorettes— Eomancers at Bay— The Dame aux Came- 
lias— Immorality of French Literature, past and present— Incidents in Novels — 
Historical Eomances— Alexandre Dumas— Types of Character in Fiction— Their 
Eepresentatives in the World— The French Face— Influence of Eomantic Writing 
— Lorette and Grisette— Another Adventure of Mr. Cockney— Protection of Life 
and Property — Letters emigrate— Dangerous Curiosity of Married Women— Ad- 
vice to Ladies — The Carnival — Agricole makes a Proposal — We agree to go to the 
Masked Ball— Priests and Soldiers inviolable— The Dames de la Halle— Who and 
what they are — Victory — The CatecMsme Poissard — Eeine Leclerc — Carnival of 
1853 — Preparation for the Ball — Costume of the Ladies— First View of the Theatre 
— A Pierrette gone astray — A fortunate Bear — Fiflne in Society — Effects of Dan- 
cing — All the World mad — A good Story with a bad End — Eiot and Ri- 
baldry 233 



CHAPTEE XVIII. 
The Story of Fiflne 251 

CHAPTEE XIX. 

Feminine Organisation of the French — Ethical Theories — Philosophical Skeptics — 
Eeligion and Morals — Feeling of Shame — Eules of Conduct — The Church and 
the Philosophers — Young Men Adrift — Students, how their Morals are Influ- 
enced — A Simple Narrative — Mademoiselle Pauline — Influence of the Boulevard 
Ladies — A Heart in Danger — A Knotty Question for the Law — Pauline at large — 
A new Friend — A Separation — An Arrangement — Influence of a Breakfast on 
Misery— Meeting in a Crowd — Marriage in Sight— Pauline and the People— Eise 
of Aristocracies— Origin of Prevalent Ideas about Women— Noble Paternity of 
Vice— The Porter's Bell— Financiers— A Queer Family— Seeing Life— Mothers 
and Sons — Illegitimate Children — Foundling Hospitals— Trade of Child-Exposers 
— Influence of Climate on Morality— Beauty of Natural Children — Example of the 
Old— Inheritance of the Past — M. Croquignole again— Who pays for the Toilettes 
at Longchamps ?— A Plea for Education — Art of Government — Moralising hy 
Force— Danger of Virtue— An over-zealous Bishop . . . 280 



C0NTE>7TS. 



CHAPTER XX. 



General Position of Women— An Odd Anecdote— Esprit de Corps— Virtue— Basis of 
Eeligion— A Political Illustration— National Character — Fatalism— Theory of Re- 
habilitation—Public Opinion with regard to "Women— Female Emancipation — 
Oriental Theories— Liberty and Seclusion— The Married and the Unmarried- 
Girls, why watched— Artificial Training— The Empress— English and French 
Systems— Course of Instruction — A Philippic against Crochet- work — Music— Ger- 
man Songs— National prejudice— Education of Women of the Humbler Classes— 
The Sisters— Immoral Influence of Catholicism— Convents and Boarding-schools- 
Prizes in Publie— Rewards for Virtue— Chamfort— Pension St. Denis . 29T 



CHAPTER XXI. 

Treatment of Infants— Nurses— A Fortunate Beggar— Cost of Nurses— Their Influence- 
on Character— Governesses— Story of Eugenie and Marie— Going to Mass— An 
Intrigue in a Church— Aristocracies— English Prudery and French Immorality— 
Before and After Marriage— Girls of the Poorer Classes— War against Modesty- 
Literature read by Grisettes— Story of Amelie— Influence of Female Occupations 
—Dressmakers— The Limits of Knowledge— Indigent Men and Women— Why 
Women take Lovers— Virtuous Courtesans and French Romancers . 309 



CHAPTER XXII. 

Influence of Institutions— Primogeniture and the Position of Women— Allies of Con- 
servatism—Theory of the Married State— Marriage a Convenience— English Sen- 
timentality— Youth in France— The Ideal— Property and Parental Authority- 
Elopements— A Matrimonial Negociation— Young Ladies not to be pitied— Object 
in Life— How Maidens are Persuaded— Effect of Ennui— Preparation for Marriage 
—The Signing of the Contract— Imitation of the Upper Classes— Expeditious 
Courtship— Buying a Husband— A Cherry-tree— An avaricious Barber — Saving a 
Dowry— Making Acquaintance with a Wife— Romance in Marriage— The Family 
in danger— Odious Theorists— The Bourgeois, how worked upon— Objects of the 
Democratic Party— Theories of Property— Spoliation— Hostility to Marriage- 
True Topics of Criticism— Divorce, its effects— Corruption of the Upper and Ob- 
servation of the Lower Classes . . ■ . . . . 320 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

Marriage Customs— Humorous Persecution— Dinners at the Barrier— Materials — 
Jokes and Songs— Dancing— An Impatient Locksmith — The Socialists — Making 
Acquaintance with the Bride— Illusions of Youth— A sham-delicate Idea— Two 
Aristocracies — After the Honeymoon — Beating Wives — Due de Praslin— Austeri- 
ty of the old Bourgeoisie— Female Admirers of the Emperor— Joys of Marriage 
— Antagonists of the Institution— George Sand — Women and Circumstances— 



CONTENTS. XIX 

Female Education— Madame L " Successes " in Society— M. Toussenel — An 

affectionate Mother — A dutiful Wife — Accepting Presents — Consequence of Im- 
morality — Eight and Expediency— A fortunate Eake — Auguste Guyard and 
Prejudice— M. Leynardier on Family Life— Laws of Property . . 335 



CHAPTER XXIY. 

Natural Sentiments— Dutiful Sons — An awkward Maternal Visit— Family Festivi- 
ties — Presents— Joviality— Sunday Afternoon— Ordinary French Living— Cheap- 
ness— French and English Dinners— The Noblesse— Luxury— Glutton's Bazaars — 
Clothing Marts— Artifices of Tradesmen— The Blouse and the Black Coat— Upper 
and Lower Classes — Ladies in Families — Afternoon Eeceptions — Eules — Charac- 
ter of the Fat— His Conversation— Green Peas — " The "Weather and the Crops" — 
Esbrouffe— A Paradox— Scandalous Stories— Imprisonment— A Visit to Mazas— 
Habeas Corpus— French Homes ...... 347 



CHAPTER XXV. 

The Bourgeois— His Settling in Life — Paradise of "Women— Female Government — 
Flower Presents— A French Kitchen— The Pot-au-feu— A Eeceipt— Soupe aux 
Choux— Kitchen Furniture— Analysis of a Quartier— Clothes'-Shops— Tradesmen's 
Trickery — Fine Names and Semblances— Suspicious Matters — Second-hand Eat- 
ing-houses — Commissioners of Analysis — Merchants of the Four Seasons— Fried 
Potatoes — Bad Furniture — Instances — Economy of a French Family — The bonne 
— Treatment of Servants — Aristocrats and Artistes — Paris Hospitals — Household 
Work — Washing — Wood and Coal-dealers — Shopping— Mariette and Mr. Yellow 
— Selling Hair— A Young Heart— Conjugal fidelity— Dress of the Bourgeois — 
Theatres— Free Admissions— Theatrical Critics— The Claque— The Queue— Mo- 
ralising Influence of the Theatre— Stolen Jokes — The Moral Bourgeois— Contrast 
between his Taste and that of the Working Classes . . . 358 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

The French Army — Piou-piou— Military Character of the Population— the discharg- 
ed Soldier— A Chasseur d'Afrique— Corsican Soldiers — M. Baudot — Forced Ee- 
cruitment— Invalid Young Men— Military Height — The Pillar of Order — The 
National Guard— The Garde Mobile— M Lamartine— The Affair of June— M. 
Paul deMolenes — A ferocious Legitimist — How to judge of a Party — the Legiti- 
mists—Foreign Troops— The White Terror— 1815— Vive le Eoi— Massacre at 
Marseilles — The Mamelukes — Marshal Brune— Protestants at Nimes — A French 
Judge Jeffreys— Eeligious Persecution— The Authorities— Committee of Massacre 
— General Eamel— Eoyalist Ladies— Marshal Ney— 1816— Eising at Grenoble — 
Specimens of Eoyalist Style— Colonel Vautre— Eoyal Mercy— Murder and Tor- 
ture—General Mouton— Sheep's Liver — Burlesque Affair at Orleans— Flaw in the 
French Character— Chances of a Eestoration — The Orleanist Absurdity— Feeling 
of the Country— Origin of Bonapartisin— Napoleonic Myth— Faults of all Parties 
—A Democratic Emperor ....... 373 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTEE XXVII. 



Love of Freedom — Hasty Politicians— Montesquieu and Virtue— Tory Machiavels— 
Principles of a Eepublic— Educating Influence of Monarchies— French Eepubli- 
cans— Waterloo of Liberty — English Opinions — The Socialists— My Credo — A pure 
Despotism — Philosophy of History — Turning of a Handle — Socialist View of 
Napoleon — The Political Economist — Considerant and Larochejaquelin — Uni- 
versal Suffrage— Absurdities of Socialism — The Middle Classes — A Ministerial 
Argument— M. Ledru Eollin — The " Illustrations "—Political Immorality— Men- 
tal Eeservation and Expediency — The Circulars — Monarchical Manoeuvres — Their 
Punishment— Influence of the Clergy— Evil everywhere in Politics— The C,hurch 
and the Emperor — A mot of Prince Metternich — Friars — Priests and "Women — 
Abbe Michon — Accusation of Grisettes — A Materialist in the Fields — A strange 
Atheist— The Clergy and the Coup oVMat .... 389 



CHAPTEE XXVIII. 

The French Ouvriers— Strikes in England and France— The Livret— Conciliation — 
Power of the Working Classes— Political Opinions — Different Grades of Workmen 
— Poverty in France — Socialism — Levelling Doctrines — Mr. Dickens — Various 
Monopolies — Influence on Character — Expenditure for Comfort — Dirt — Education 
of the Ouvriers— Their Manners — Marriages — An Ancient Bride — Places of 
Amusement — Songs — Workmen, how treated by the G-overnment — Dangerous 
Classes — M. Fregier— The Chiffonniers— Number Seven— A Classical Encounter 
— Medical Bagman— An Interloper— Miserable Classes— Communism— Theory of 
the Commonwealth— The Dividers— Taxation— " Utopia " . . 402 



CHAPTEE XXIX. 

The Material of Emeutes— -The Artistical Classes— Wide-spread Taste— Number of 
Artists— Their Opinions— How Eeputations are Created— Prudhon — Introduction 
of Artistic Feeling into France— Its Transmission to the Bourgeoisie— Opinions 
of Painters— Atelier of M. Jeanron— His Pupils — The Eeception-day— Approach 
of the Coup d'etat— Atelier of Alexis— Master Jules— Borrowing Money —A Visit 
to Jules— His Workshop — Inscription on the Walls— M. Credeville — A Loquacious 
Model— Dunning an Artist— Basil— A Lazy Fellow — Waiting for Inspiration — 
The Loustie and the Eapin— Practical Jokes— Change in the Manners of Artists- 
Analogy from Military Life ....... 413^ 



CHAPTEE XXX. 
WhatlsawoftheCoupd'Etat 426 



PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS 



CHAPTER I. 

Hasty Conclusions — First Impressions — Old Acquaintance with France — My Pre- 
judices—French and English— Limits of the subject— Egotism— New Streets — 
Changes in the Aspect of Paris— War against old Names— Great Battles and Na- 
tional Prejudices— Waterloo— Counter-criticisms— Spoils of Conquest— Historical 
Amenities— Public Works and Communism— English Opinions— Our Country- 
women scolded — Beauty and Influence of Paris. 

The French are fond of telling a story about an Englishman 
who, on landing at Calais, was sulkily received by a red-haired 
hostess, and forthwith wrote down in his note-book, — "All 
Frenchwomen are sulky and red-haired." What corrections 
were afterwards made in this judgment we are not told. It is 
probable that a mind capable of generalisation so rapid was in- 
capable of giving a second hearing to the cause, and that our 
hasty traveller spent more time and ingenuity in rinding reasons 
to justify his original opinion than would have enabled him to 
range through the whole scope of French manners. He is men- 
tioned as an oddity ; but, perhaps, thought will teach us that, 
in another kind of journey, most men waste half their energies 
in endeavouring to keep in countenance some early error that 
they have made their bosom friend. 

However this may be, no traveller need doubt that his first 
2 



PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS, 



impressions of a country are erroneous. Even when we look at 
the forms of material palpable objects, the judgment is obliged 
to correct the eye. On entering a room which custom has not 
made familiar, there is a competition of tables, chairs, and fire- 
irons for our notice ; and even an auctioneer's observation is 
staggered for a moment. What confusion is .created in our 
ideas when we move to a new. house ! We are placed in 
another centre, and feel like a forlorn mathematical point to 
which radii have not yet had time to converge. Everything 
around has a foreign aspect. The sounds of 'the street seem 
strange. Even the house-dog barks uneasily at night. We 
try to feel at home; but in vain. Remorse comes over us for 
unjust aspersions on the feline race. The colour of the wall- 
paper is. odd. The windows are out of place ; so are the doors, 
the chimneypieces, and the cupboards. The sun has shifted his 
position ; and the postman comes down the street a different 
way. For some time the mind remains perplexed by a sense 
of absurdity. 

I have felt this odd feeling about other countries, but not 
about France. For I first set my foot — a very small foot, then 
— on the coast of Normandy, in the year 1829. This may ex- 
plain why I am obliged to have recourse to reason, in order to 
persuade myself that it is ridiculous for women to wear bonnets 
as high as steeples. That kind of head-dress appears to me 
rather elegant than otherwise ; and when' young travellers be- 
gin to laugh at it, I feel as cold as when some modern wit uses 
names that are sacred, and mentions things that are mysteries, 
as an incentive to laughter. I do not see the funny side of the 
matter at all. 

However, if my taste remain so far corrupted, in spite of 
long intervals of experience in other countries, I must admit 
that a recent sojourn in France has deprived me of many of my 
prejudices in its favour. Not, perhaps, that I like it less than 
of yore : but my respect for the people has diminished. If 



MY PREJUDICES. 3 

Jove is akin to pity, pity is akin to contempt. A nation, like 
an individual, when unfortunate from its own fault, must expect 
its friends to fall off. They fall off so easily, even from un- 
merited disaster. 

What lances have I broken for France in my time ! Why, 
I have made myself disagreeable to half my friends, by check- 
ing their criticisms when they seemed to flow rather from pre- 
judice than knowledge. My enthusiasm has greatly diminished. 
Let me hope that I have retrograded to the half-way house of 
impartiality. At any rate I shall neither calumniate nor flatter 
— rather the second than the first ; but there are certain things 
that must be s^id not commendatory. These volumes, more- 
over, will scarcely cross the Channel. If they should, let those 
who notice a lack of compliments remember that England has 
been so maltreated in French writing and conversation, that 
the word " Anglais," when it does not excite hatred, is almost 
always associated with ridicule. I shall not, however, as I have 
hinted, yield to the temptation to make reprisals ; partly because 
there is nothing so monotonous as vituperation and satire, partly 
because I want the inclination. In truth — and be sure this 
admission will warm the heart of every true Gaul — France has 
been a great nation in arts and arms, and must not be despised 
because it is at present under a cloud. 

It would be ungrateful in me to deny that some of the 
pleasantest hours that have brightened on my path — some of 
those hours that shine more and more vividly as they recede in 
time — have been spent in Paris. In the centre of that great 
city I have, for many years past, set up my literary hermitage ; 
and there, relations growing around me, I have been brought 
acquainted with many features of French manners which seem 
to me legitimate objects of art. We cannot all be historical 
painters. The scenes of daily life, the changing forms of con- 
temporary society, even mutations in the physiognomy of cities, 
the influence of new institutions on individual habits and modes 



4 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

of thought, the by- play of national character — all these are valu- 
able materials for moral speculation. In the present case I shall 
have to notice the purple tints cast down upon society by the 
imperial canopy now spread over it. They are as yet faifft, 
but will deepen as time proceeds, unless some great tempest 
should blow and leave France once more without any roof but 
heaven. 

So many, however, know, and so many more fancy .they 
know, a thing or two about French manners, that I fear rebuke 
for entering into trifling and familiar details. It is best, perhaps, 
at once to confess that I have few revelations in store for trav- 
ellers, but that these pages are principally addressed to the idle 
who have .not yet gone abroad. My public will be large 
enough. I shall choose exactly that class of facts which I have 
found interesting to tell when, during my occasional visits to 
England, the cheerful winter fire has drawn a semicircle of 
friends into cozy proximity, and questions have suggested 
answers that have gradually grown into narrative. 

I shall so frequently be led to speak in the first person, that 
there is danger of a charge of egotism. Perhaps the admission 
that the charge is true may endear me to my readers, -who, 
naturally, hate those who are without fault. I am sure I do. 
Besides, it would be presumption to usurp the impersonality of 
the historian or the philosopher. Narrative is the best way of 
showing how matters are managed in France as elsewhere. 
I do not purpose to myself a general picture of manners, but 
shall draw more from my experience, necessarily imperfect, than 
from my reading. 

There will be few dissentients from the statement that Paris 
is one of the finest cities of. the world — let us say the finest ; for 
this will very shortly be true. Even within the last twenty 
years its aspect has completely changed, and since the re-estab- 
lishment of arbitrary government the improvement has almost 
been miraculous. Whole quarters, refuges of poverty and de- 



NEW STREETS. 



mocracy, have been cut down ; broad streets, by which fresh air 
and artillery may penetrate in every direction, have been open- 
ed ; public buildings, capable of being used as fortresses, are 
rising everywhere. The health of the inhabitants cannot fail to 
be improved ; and the pale-faced, lantern-jawed Parisian, the 
artificer of revolutions, the Cassius of the Faubourg St. Antoine, 
will doubtless soon make way for a rosy-cheeked race, whose 
dreams will never be disturbed by reflections on the rights of 
man. This is a very cheerful prospect, and I am not far from 
understanding the observations that used at first to irritate me 
when they fell from my stout countrymen and fair country- 
women, in answer to certain disagreeable statements as to the 
origin of the present government. " But see what he (meaning 
his majesty the Emperor) has done for Paris ! " Fine masonry 
is certainly an excellent substitute for liberty ; and we need not 
despair of the return of a Tory government in England, if it will 
only promise to give us some excellent thoroughfares. 

Most persons are tempted to exaggerate the relative impor- 
tance of the changes and revolutions that take place before their 
eyes. A meteor shooting near at hand seems to mock the ve- 
locity of a comet. Thus we hear talk of nothing but the won- 
derful doings in the trowel-and-plummet line in Paris, as though 
that capital had hitherto remained stationary. If, however, we 
look at the map published in 1782, we shall find that nearly all 
the present establishments, colleges, museums, cemeteries, which 
are among the signs of advancing civilisation, are not mention- 
ed ; whilst everywhere are set down names of convents and 
ecclesiastical buildings of various kinds, that have now no 
existence. The Eevolution varied and improved the physi- 
oguomy of the capital as much as the condition of the 
country — it changed cloisters into libraries : the Empire did its 
part also ; but it changed churches into barracks. Unfortu- 
nately, ignorance or reckless barbarity has destroyed many 
venerable monuments, which gives occasion to the lovers of the 
old regime to cry out against the Vandalism of ail innovators. 



6 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

There is nothing so pleasant in walking through a great 
capital as to find hints and reminiscences of historical events, or 
bygone states of society, in the names of the streets. I regret, 
therefore, the system suggested by the violence of party feeling, 
according to which, at each successive change of government, 
old names are effaced to make way for new ones. There is, 
surely, little to regret in the times of pure monarchy ; but as 
the greatest part of the life of Paris was spent under that regime, 
there is no reason for effacing every trace of it. I have no ven- 
eration for the muster-roll of the Calendar, yet it seems to me a 
kind of fraud upon St. Victor to efface his name to make way 
for that of Cuvier. The great naturalist, though he emulated the ' 
servility of Yerulam, was entitled to stand godfather to a new 
street. A regret has already been expressed that the street of 
the Golden King is now nowhere to be found ; and I admit 
that I go from time to time into the Quartier Latin to see that 
the name of Git le Cceur, which suggests to me all sorts of 
mysterious and poetical ideas, has not been effaced. A series 
of streets, connected by new openings, has lately been called 
Rue Bonaparte ; but it is not any political prejudice that makes 
me regret the disappearance of the old inscription, in ugly stone 
letters, of "St. Germain-in-the-Fields." 

A great many streets in Paris are named from foreign cities ; 
in order, as the French say, to express its cosmopolitan charac- 
ter — as the Rue de Bruxelles, de Londres, d'Amsterdam, &c. ; 
and an opportunity is never lost of making an allusion to the 
great victories gained by France. We have the bridges of 
Jena, Austerlitz, and Arcole ; the streets of Castiglione, Rivoh, 
des Pyramides, and a host of others. Besides this, very pro- 
perly, there is a catalogue of all the battles, in which the French 
army has distinguished itself, inscribed on the Triumphal Arch ; 
among others Aboukir, which greatly puzzles our honest tars 
who are unlearned in the history of land skirmishes, and do not 
know that that place is described in French geographies as " a 



WATERLOO , / 

spot celebrated by a victory of Napoleon." For my part, I do 
not see that the names of great battles should be forgotten, any 
more than the names of other remarkable historical events. 
Why, therefore, should we be rebuked, not only in conversation, 
but by grave philosophical writers, for being a little lavish in the 
use of the word Waterloo ? " You cannot move a step in England 
without seeing the name of Waterloo," indignantly exclaims a 
Professor at the College of France : " a street is called Waterloo, 
a bridge Waterloo, even commercial houses — always Waterloo, 
always France ! " This is very trivial ; but without noticing such 
traits, it would be impossible to obtain a correct idea of the 
character of the French. Any reference made to defeats sus- 
tained by their armies thrills them with indignation, and the 
most amusing thing is that they cannot conceal their feelings, 
but complain even in print. There is, in fact, no nation more 
obtuse in sentiment when speaking of foreigners, even to their 
faces, and yet no nation so sensitive when its own doings are 
concerned. They will unconsciously talk of Jena and Marengo 
to a Prussian or an Austrian, but if an Englishman mentions 
Waterloo, they really regard him as a brute, and for the time 
imagine, that if positions were changed they would be more gen- 
erous. It should be made a maxim of international morality, 
that all peoples should treat others as the French imagine that 
others ought to treat them. There was a period when it was 
dangerous for any person of the name of Lowe to travel in 
France. I have heard fifty stories, several of which may be 
true, of different kinds of torture and insult to which some ima- 
ginary Sir Hoodson Lov has been subjected by parties of gal- 
lant young Frenchmen, determined to avenge the imprisonment 
of St. Helena. Now these anecdotes were always told to me 
with the naive expectation that I should sympathise with them. 
It is difficult to describe this curious state of mind. Let me 
give another illustration. Southey, in his " Life of Nelson," 
uses the following phrase : — "The French, who have never act- 



8 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

ed a generous part in the history of the world, &c." The Pro- 
fessor already quoted, upon this flies into a passion, and observes, 
in a tone of profound belief, — " In France, a known writer who 
should thus express himself about one of the nations of Europe 
would be hooted in the streets." I do not know what there may 
be peculiarly offensive or inappropriate in the charge of want of 
generosity ; but it seems to me equally unpleasant to be called 
greedy, grasping, perfidious, ruthless, mercenary, poisoners; 
which epithets, and a thousand others, have been employed by 
writers who would be very much offended to be thought un- 
known, and who have not yet been hooted in the streets. I 
wish particularly to point out, however, that the. French are real- 
ly and truly unconscious of the value of the terms applied by 
them to others, whilst their eYerj nerve vibrates with indigna- 
tion at the slightest criticism of their own conduct. If I did 
not fear to be called ungallant, I should say that this is one of 
the points in which their character is feminine. Women, when 
they have irritated their husbands beyond bearing, are ever 
ready to invoke the privileges of their sex ; and the French 
have persuaded themselves that they are entitled to a similar 
impunity. Those who do not quite understand this frame of 
mind, should remember the amusing discussion about the tri- 
colored flag on the occasion of the Duke of Wellington's funer- 
al ; and read M. Vaulabelle's doleful lamentations at the resump- 
tion in 1815, by victorious foreign powers, of objects of art 
previously carried off as booty by the French armies ; which 
resumption is called " an insolent abuse of victory." This curi- 
ous phrase occurs in the best history of the two Restorations 
that has been published. The finishing touch to the meanness 
of these complaints is given by a detail intended to heighten 
the accusation against the Allies : — " Many pictures were taken 
that had actually been bought with cash!" If the criticism 
had been confined to these instances, there might have been 
some excuse ; but to apply the word " spoliation " to the act of 
recovering stolen property is peculiarly French. 



HISTORICAL AMENITIES. 9 

If we seek for illustrations of this singular mental phenomenon 
in more vulgar writers than those I have already alluded to, we 
shall find it exaggerated into a disease. A Frenchman — the 
exceptions are too rare to notice — has, without knowing- it, 
two moral standards — tw T o tribunals judging by different laws 
— one for his own nation, the other for foreigners. When we, 
for example, commit any act that seems improper, it is imme- 
diately denounced in terms of inelegant reprobation. The ex- 
travagances of the press may be excused, but the second-class 
historical writers furnish specimens sufficiently amusing. There 
is M. Elias Regnault, who has written an account of the last 
years of Louis Philippe's reign. He cannot speak of our diplo- 
macy without calling it " insolent " and " brutal " — terms 
which, it is true, we have not had an opportunity of applying 
to French diplomacy for many a year. It has generally been 
sufficiently supple and accommodating. However, I do not 
think that, even if irritated by a spirited act of our sometime 
rival and provisional ally, any English writer, pretending to an 
historical character, could use expressions so coarse. It is un- 
necessary to say, that had the acts complained of been commit- 
ted by France, they would have been " decided," " vigorous," and 
so forth. But this is scarcely surprising, and belongs, perhaps, 
to ordinary human nature. More characteristic instances may 
be found. In the Syrian war, according to M. Regnault, the 
Emir Beshir having failed— involuntarily, it is said — to perform 
his promise of giving himself up on a particular day, was sent 
to Malta under surveillance, and is represented as the victim of 
a " treacherous ambuscade." The son of the French king makes 
a solemn engagement to free Abd-el-Kader, if he will come in. 
This is simply a " rash promise, which the Government could 
not, or ought not, to ratify." Our Admiral seized some Egyp- 
tian ships in the harbour of Beyrout — unfairly, says M. Reg- 
nault. Well, let us take his account of the matter, and admit, 
saving the style, that this is " an act of piracy," " a brutal exe- 
2* 



10 PURPLE TINTS Oi PARIS. 

cution," " a violation of the law of nations." Morality can- 
not be too sensitive, and public acts cannot be too severely 
judged. In an adjoining chapter, I find a fact mentioned 
which reminds us of the scalping atrocities of the Ameri- 
can war. Referring to the victory of an Arab traitor in the 
pay of France, — "devoted to France," is the expression — I 
find it said, " When he sent information of this success to the 
governor of the province of Constantine, he forwarded as tro- 
phies of victory four hundred and fifty right ears ! " I looked 
on to see what terms of reprobation would be used in speaking 
of this horrid circumstance, and found not a word ; it does not 
even suggest a remark. What a pity this sackful of ears, torn 
from the dead and dying on the field of battle, was not sent to 
an English governor ! How would not the vocabulary of insult 
have been ransacked for epithets ! Really all this is very sad ; 
and it is sadder because these contradictions are not deliberate. 
They arise, in the first place, from the instinctive mercifulness 
of the French for themselves, which I have endeavoured to bring- 
out in relief ; but they seem to indicate also a total absence of 
that moral sense which vibrates to the qualities of acts them- 
selves, and not of the persons who commit them. If this singu- 
lar deficiency influenced only opinions held of other nations, it 
might lead to nothing more than the perpetuation of war. Its 
action is, unfortunately, found in domestic affairs. Parties and 
classes judge of each other in the same way. Everything that 
is done by a friend is virtuous ; all opponents are abused with 
true Celtic virulence. I have rarely met an Irishman, the 
father of whose enemy had not robbed a stage-coach. "No 
Frenchman can admit that those who differ from him in opinion 
can be other than assassins and robbers. If we could believe 
the mutual recriminations of Republicans and Royalists, we 
should be obliged to call for a deluge to sweep the country of 
the whole malignant race. A Revolutionist will point to the 
Due de Praslin as a type of the upper classes ; and I once 



COMMUNISM. 1 1 

beard a wealthy Orleanist bring forward a murder and robbery ? 
that had taken place on the 24th of February, as an instance of 
the way in which the " enemies of order " celebrated the anni- 
versary of their Republic ! It would be a cruel and not unjust 
punishment of the furious and unreasoning spirit from which all 
this arises, to take the various histories that have been recently 
published to serve party purposes, and, without adding a word 
of remark, to construct a portrait of the French nation as paint- 
ed by themselves. They would shrink with horror, and deny 
the likeness. 

I must, however, check these excursive impulses, and return 
to the external aspect of Paris. I need not describe the recent 
embellishments, partly because they have been so much seen 
and talked of, partly because in another year I should have to 
begin again. It is impossible to walk out without noticing some 
new change. Even old Parisians are obliged to study the rnap 
of their city anew. There are many quarters in which I am 
quite at sea. All my landmarks have disappeared ; and as I 
pick my way uncertain amidst vast hewn stones, over ground 
covered with white chips, between half-demolished houses, I 
cannot help meditating whether this system of employing a third 
of the population in knocking down and building up the capi- 
tal, with the professed object of giving work to the classes that 
make emeutes, is not a coarse form of Communism. One of 
the practical deductions of that theory is, that when any portion 
of the population is in want of work, the accumulated capital 
of society must be used to give an artificial stimulus to produc- 
tion. There may be some truth in this ; but still, for my part, 
I am surprised to find so many of my countrymen in raptures 
with the worst possible application of a doctrine which, in its 
theoretical form, smites them with so much horror. The French, 
exercising that singular power they possess of self-consolation, 
are fond of describing their Emperor as the -great Revolutionist, 
the great Socialist. According to them, he will do what they 



12 PURPLE TINTS OP PARIS. 

failed to do : he will make the monarchical chivalry to skip ; 
he will take clown the exorbitant pretensions of the rich. I have 
nothing to say to all this, especially as I am a terrible leveller 
myself; and, above all, quite delighted at the dispensation of 
Providence which castigates the upper and middle classes of 
France, because they found no better use to make of political 
power than to give it up for fear of what they always main- 
tained to be a despicable minority — " une injime minorite " was 
the fashionable expression. Yet let me confess, that when I 
hear English travellers — there is scarcely an exception — answer 
all ill-natured criticism on the Emperor by mentioning the good 
he has done for Paris, I am still a little puzzled. 

Of course this would not find its place-here if it were proba- 
ble that these pages could be much read in France ; because, to 
tell the truth, I have always maintained among my friends there 
that we sturdy Britons care nothing for bricks and mortar, that 
we set our liberty above city improvements, and that there is 
not one amongst. us who would exchange his vote for the plea- 
sure of walking down the finest street in Christendom. These 
apocryphal statements receive strange shocks from stray travel- 
lers like Mrs. , who exclaimed the other day, with tears in 

her eyes, scolding some disloyal Frenchmen, " How is it possi- 
ble you do not like so good a man ? See what fine streets he is 
building ! What good he has done for Paris ! " 

To my shame be it confessed, that when the lady's back was 
turned, I disclaimed her for a countrywoman, declaring that she 
came from " the colonies ;" but as this subterfuge was not new, 
it ]3rovoked the question, "Are all Englishwomen from the colo- 
nies ? " The fact is, my invention is nearly exhausted, and I 
shall not much longer be able to exculpate my fellow-citizens. 
Let me remonstrate, at any rate, with the fair sex. Dear ladies, 
be Bonapartists if you please — -it is quite genteel ; but do not, 
because you admire the fine streets of Paris, tell French people 
they ought on that account to be satisfied with the present state 



OUR COUNTRYWOMEN SCOLDED. 



of things. Do you know what they pretend behind your backs ? 
Why, that a present of a handsome gown might make you say 
and do a great deal more ; and, in truth, I remember now that 

Lady , after a week spent in Paris, did observe to me, 

" They tell me he has done horrid things ; but — he gives such 
splendid balls!" What the French say is impertinent; but if 
you examine your own hearts well, you will find that all this 
contemptuous neglect of ideas of right, this disregard of senti- 
ments of humanity, this tendency to be captivated by show, this 
high price set on external improvements, this passionate admi- 
ration of the pageantries of life, this balancing of moral judg- 
ments, in which massacres are put in one tray and dancing-par- 
ties in another — all this brings you into strong affinity with the 
classes you most despise. You cannot understand political 
necessities. Louis Napoleon may have been right in what he 
did ; but, dearest countrywomen, I should prefer not hearing 
you say so, just as I should prefer not hearing you decide on 
the merits of capital convictions at the Old Bailey, especially if 
you did so on the ground that the judge had beautiful robes 
and a fine flowing wig. 

I have said a civil thing for Paris ; but I am afraid that many 
Frenchmen would not be satisfied. Let me, therefore, translate, 
choosing at haphazard, one of the compliments which our neigh- 
bours are in the habit of paying to themselves, never without 
taking the opportunity to put unwieldy London in its right 
place. " Rome is a souvenir ; London is a manufactory : Paris 
is an idea in a stone framework. This encyclopaedic city pre- 
serves and increases without ceasing within its walls, the depot 
of all human acquirements, of all useful discoveries. One of the 
characteristics of that Being of Reason, to which we have given 
the name of capital, is, in fact, universality. Paris resumes in 
its establishments, in its institutions, in its works, all the multi- 
ple science of the nineteenth century." It is not my fault if 
French eloquence, when translated, resembles nonsense. Other 



14 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

writers tell us that Paris is " the head of Europe, the brain of 
Europe, the heart of Europe ;" which may probably explain 
why Europe sometimes plays strange antics. There is substan- 
tial truth, however, in these laudations. The French capital is 
certainly a wonderful place, architecturally and morally speak- 
ing*. It would be graceful, however, in its inhabitants, and not 
unuseful to them, if they would pay a little attention to the con- 
dition and mechanism of a neighbouring capital, which they 
might find to be something else besides a workshop and a man- 
ufactory. As for the influence of Paris on the rest of the 
world, or rather, I should say, of Europe, it would, perhaps, be 
difficult to exaggerate it ; but the French seem to derive too 
much satisfaction from an incontestable fact. People do not 
always imitate that which is best ; and I am afraid that, if we are 
indebted to Paris for fashions and revolutions, we are also in- 
debted to it for other things not quite so good. 



CHAPTER II. 



Exiles from the Capital — An atrocious Provincial — English Ladies — Beautiful Cli- 
mate—A Cloudy Day at Marseilles— The Country of Fogs— Coal and Charcoal- 
Dingy London — The Seine — Paris a Sea-port — Floating Baths — Advantages of 
Modesty — Athletic Exercises — Promenades — The Eingdoves of the Luxembourg — 
Private Gardens — Flowers — Commissionaires — Omnibuses — Dearth of Talk — Cab 
Kegulations— Umbrellas and Washerwomen— Street Noises — National Airs— Emi- 
gration of Organs — Newsmen — their Persecutions— Street Police — " The Guard " — 
Patrols— Learned Police — Political Crimes. 



Paejs covers a surface of thirty-four million square metres, and 
all its streets put on end would give a length of nearly two hun- 
dred leagues. French writers grow quite amorous in their, de- 
scriptions of it, and enumerate its perfections in rapturous Ian 
guage. In this they perfectly represent the tone of society. 
UnhajDpy men who have been " exiled," as they express it, from 
Paris — that is to say, who have been compelled to journey for 
a month or so to a distance of fifty leagues — talk of its charms 
as you and I might talk of Fanny or Mary Ann. Commercial 
travellers speak of its wonders to those who have remained all 
their lives' sticking, like oysters, to their native rock, as pilgrims 
of old used to speak of the kingdom of Prester John. Nothing 
offends a Frenchman so much as a word of criticism against 
his darling capital, especially now that he has so little else to be 
proud of. I once ventured to observe at Aries, the city of 
pretty women, that it was rare to see a beautiful face in Paris. 
My interlocutor flushed up as if I had spoken ill of his mother, 
and began very hotly to expatiate on the graces and perfections 



16 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

of those wliom I had thoughtlessly depreciated, not without 
some shrewd hits at you, my dear countrywomen. According, 
indeed, to this atrocious provincial (who, as I afterwards learned, 
had never been in Paris), you have very fine faces and not des- 
picable forms ; but you are cold, awkward, and, above all, you 
do not know how to dress. Most Frenchmen are like Rous- 
seau ; a rosy cheek moves them less than a rosy ribbon ; and 
in describing one of their goddesses they expatiate with all the 
science of a milliner on the various details of her costume. 
Dress is certainly something, and I wish I could take the part 
of my countrywomen in this particular : but, no : — ^nothing shall 
wring from me a word of untruth ; and so I pass on to another 
part of my subject. 

However, for the last time I repeat that Paris is a splendid 
city. One of its advantages is the comparatively pure atmos- 
phere it enjoys. There are days when I have stood on the 
Pont des Arts and seen a perfect luxury of light shed upon the 
domes and pinnacles around ; when the river sparkled and 
smiled as if it remembered the lovely scenes it had quitted, and 
the still lovelier it was going to greet ; when the city in the 
island, with its great cathedral towers and Babel-like houses, 
and clump of trees set in front of them, like a nosegay on a 
lady's bodice, was touched with Venetian hues ; and when the 
whole succession of palaces that formed the western perspective 
seemed too glittering for reality. Later in the day, if you turn 
towards the heights of Chaillot and Passy, following the south- 
ern quays, you may forget, so bright are the colours and so 
graceful the folds of the scenery, that you are not on the bor- 
ders of the Mediterranean ; whilst at sunset there is sometimes 
so gorgeous a flush, such a burst of brilliance behind the 
Triumphal Arch, that it would be vain to travel in search, of 
anything more magnificent. 

But I cannot proceed without making a remark apropos 
of climate. It is the custom in France to describe England, 



A CLOUDY DAY AT MARSEILLES. 17 

London especially, as " a country of fogs." Now, though I am 
furiously national, I shall not pretend .to say that there are no 
fogs in ray dear native place ; so many people would contradict 
me, though wishing that I had truth on my side. But, after all, 
it is good to be Letter off than foreigners believe. Seriously and 
positively, it is an article of French meteorological faith that 
England is always covered by one dense mist ; or that, at any 
rate, the sky is invariably cloudy. I remember being one day 
at Marseilles. A thunder-storm was coming on : the tops of 
the hills were totally invisible ; the lower slopes could be but 
dimly seen ; the population was going about holding on its hats 
with both hands ; sea-birds were coming in with discordant 
screams ; the ships in the harbour rocked ; the sea tossed un- 
easily, and broke with a splashing roar upon the beach ; to- 
wards the west a pale grey light showed where the sun ought 
to have been. I stood on a terrace, watching a shower of rain 
that was crossing the bay diagonally, and had just shrouded 
the Chateau d'lf in its million threads. At that moment a 
French fellow-traveller came up to me, and said, with the most 
innocent air in the world, — " I suppose you would consider this 
to be a fine day in England ? " At first I thought he was ac- 
tuated by the pestilent spirit of mockery inherent in his race ; 
but no, he was quite serious, asking for information : so I ob- 
served, that as corn and other things ripened in England, there 
must be a little sun now and then. He touched his hat apologeti- 
cally. " Pardon — he had not thought of that." He was hurt 
to think that he had hurt my feelings, and went away musing 
on my suggestion. JSTow, I am quite sure that the substance 
of his thoughts was not how odd it was for him to take a cur- 
rent joke — as, singularly enough, his jocular countrymen often 
do — for an undoubted fact ; but whether it was not, after all, 
possible for corn to ripen in a country perpetually covered with 
fog, or if not, whether corn did ever ripen, <fec, &c. 

To revenge myself for French exaggerations I shall reveal 



18 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

the fact, that I have seen as thick fogs in Paris as I have ever 
seen in London : it is sometimes necessary to place lampions, or 
saucers-full of grease, with great wicks, that flare and stink, all 
across the Carrousel, in order that people may see their way. 
Less intense visitations are frequent ; but having satisfied the 
basest passion in human nature, I shall admit, that in general 
the air of Paris is clear and pure. If you go out or return home 
early in the morning, it is really delightful to see the forms of 
the great city coming gradually out in the grey light, and look- 
ing ere the sun has risen like the dim pencil-dashes of a half- 
finished picture of Canaletti. The general use of charcoal fires 
in the kitchens, and the lateness of the breakfast hour, contribute 
to keep the sky pure until far on in the day. Even then nothing 
more than a slight haze collects in winter, just sufficient to give 
a peculiar character to the sunsets. Gradually, however, the 
use of coal is coming in ; people mix it with the wood ; so that 
we need not despair of being able at some future day to say 
" dingy Paris" as a retort to " dingy London." Perhaps our 
dinginess may then be a tradition ; for the Cincinnatus of 
Diplomacy has taken up the matter, and has put his hand to 
chimney-pots whilst waiting for a call to put it to treaties. 

For many reasons Englishmen are almost afraid to speak of 
the Thames. They remember a favourite proverb of Sancho 
Panza, and by common consent let alone their great river, which 
they have changed into a sewer. The French have not quite 
the same reason for silence. No Arab talks with more respect 
of the Nile than the Parisian of the Seine. That stream 
is supposed to possess peculiar properties. It is eau de Seine 
here, eau de Seine there. Latterly great excitement has been 
created by the arrival of a flat-bottomed steamer from Bordeaux, 
and it is becoming fashionable to talk of Paris as a sea-port. 
One of the papers — the " Presse," I believe — has announced 
that Paris has at length nothing to envy in London. During 
the summer months the Seine is now covered with large floating 



ADVANTAGES OF MODESTY. 19 

cold-baths, in addition to the permanent warm ones. There 
are swimming-baths for men, and others for women. Formerly 
this division did not exist, and within this century crowds of both 
sexes. have been seen disporting together in the Bains Vigier. 
Even at present, in the same baths, the refreshment-counter is 
kept by a young woman, of whom the dripping bathers buy 
sausages and rolls. I have often felt inclined to remark on this 
circumstance, but have been withheld for fear of being called 
pudique ; one of the contemptuous expressions applied in French 
literature and conversation to Englishmen. I might console 
myself, however, by reflecting in what vocabulary " modest 
woman" is an insult. Seriously, however, if it were my duty to 
lecture a great nation, I should tell them that one of their great 
moral diseases is their utter loss of the delicacy they so much 
despise. Even as a matter of taste they should try to cultivate 
the feeling, too much weakened everywhere, but which still 
remains sufficiently strong with us to enable us sometimes to 
blush. This feeling is valuable, both in arts and literature. By 
its means we appreciate shades of expression, which would other- 
wise escape us ; allusions, the grace and coquetry of style, strike 
upon us with their full force ; and tender ideas are seen flying 
to the willows afar ofF, instead of being coarsely cast unzoned 
before us. I may have here touched upon the secret why most 
English writing seems addressed to youths and women ; whilst 
one might almost imagine that all French literature aims at 
irritating the blunt sensations of worn-out men. But this has 
taken me a long way from the banks of the Seine. 

It is rather surprising, considering' that there is no fleet of 
steamers, that boating is not a more common amusement than 
it is. The French, however, are not fond of athletic exercises. 
They are more prone to learn to manage the pistol and the small 
sword, in which even counter-jumpers are proficient. The 
greatest bodily exertion they take is to play a game of billiards, 
constant practice at which gives considerable freedom to the 



20 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

motions of their arms. Riding is perhaps less followed than in 
any other country, which accounts for the fact that the French 
are the worst horsemen in the world. A few elegants show off 
before the ladies in the Champs Elysees. 

The gardens and public promenades of Paris on fine days 
are certainly among the most magnificent in the world. My 
plan does not require me to describe them, and I shall merely 
echo the regret of the sentimentalists, who complain that the 
necessities of civil strife have disfigured the great alley of the 
Luxembourg by a series of barrack-sheds ; so that, instead of 
the voices of children at play, the promenader is disturbed in 
his reflections by cries of " Present — fire ! " or sees lines of red- 
legged bumpkins training for the field of glory. M. Toussenel 
informs us, in his witty essays on ornithology, that since this vil- 
lanous change the ringdoves that used to frequent the gardens 
have taken flight for the distant woods, where they are waiting 
until democracy shall restore the place to them and to lovers. 
There still remain some ringdoves in the Tuileries ; and in most 
of the public and private gardens blackbirds and thrushes, night- 
ingales and bullfinches, are to be found. 

One pleasant feature of Paris is that here and there, even 
in the densest quarters, you may see, peeping over lofty walls, 
or at the bottom of some tunnel-like archway, fragments of 
groves, which, on nearer acquaintance, will be found to be 
cooled by fountains and adorned by statuary. Romancers 
exaggerate them into parks, but as a rule they cover only a 
few square yards. In the Faubourg St. Germain, it is true, 
there are some delightful gardens of considerable extent, where 
one may walk by moonlight, and listen to the buzz of the 
mighty city around. The French are passionately fond of 
flowers, which indicates a delicacy of taste that they must try 
to preserve. Those who cannot enjoy the luxury of a plot of 
ground make gardens in green boxes on their window-sills, or 
buy pots of sweet basil, the heliotrope, nightshade, jasmin, and 



THE COMMISSIONAIRES. 21 

mignonette, at the Quai anx Fleurs. On certain days of the 
year — the Ste. Marie, for example, every third person being- 
called by that name — the streets of Paris resemble a fragrant 
Birnam Wood. Everybody is moving about, bearing gigantic 
bouquets or portentous pots of flowers; for it is the custom to 
make presents of this kind on such occasions. The imperial 
flower is the violet — a singular desecration of that modest child 
of the woods. 

Even from what I have already said, it will be seen that 
the external aspect of Paris is very unlike that of London. I 
might go on enumerating points of difference, as Touchstone 
says, " eight years together, suppers and sleeping-hours except- 
ed." At the corners of all principal streets you may always 
see a group of stout fellows in caps, blue trousers, and braided 
jackets, with a brass plate and a number. These are commis- 
sionaires, or messengers, ready to run on errands, to carry love- 
letters, to go to the pawn-offices while shamefaced poverty 
lingers around the corner, to assist in moving, to black your 
shoes, &c. Their honesty and punctuality used to be prover- 
bial, but I have lately heard that it is sometimes unsafe to trust 
them with a letter to which no answer is required. In 1849 an 
attempt was made to establish a Parcels' Delivery Company, 
the service to be performed on foot ; but it failed. 

Parisian omnibuses, except in the matter of speed, are as 
superior to ours as a caltche is to a cart. They are broad and 
commodious. The conductor, sheltered by a projecting roof, 
and dressed in a decent-looking uniform, communicates with 
the driver by a string ; a machine counts the number of pas- 
sengers. There are a couple of brass rods along the roof, to 
enable you to get in and out without stumbling; half the seats 
are divided eff by arms. When the vehicle is full, a board, 
with the word ' : Complet" upon it, announces the fact — not 
jeers and blackguardism, as is sometimes the case on a rainy 
day in England. The public pays without being asked a few 



22 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

minutes after entering ; and the ridiculous sight is never seen 
of a stout old lady keeping fifteen passengers," fierce for dinner, 
waiting whilst she fumbles for halfpence in a glove. Formerly 
there was a good deal of conversation carried on in omnibuses, 
as well as in railway trains. Now everybody remains disagree- 
ably silent. If you hear voices raised above the rumbling of 
the wheels or the shaking of the rails, they are sure to belong 
to English travellers. We are supposed to be taciturn ; but it is 
quite a relief in travelling to escape from the company of a set 
of fellows, who look at you askance, and fancy you are a spy if 
you want to talk, into that of our chatty countrymen. I- be- 
lieve a similar change has lately come over the whole Conti- 
nent, which is thus changed into a huge Dionysius's Ear. 

Paris cabs are paradise — still with the exception of their 
slow-going. Every ride within the barriers, short or long, is 
paid for at one fixed price, according to the quality or size of 
the vehicle. A tariff is fixed up inside. The driver gives you 
his number when you enter. This number is now on the first 
page of a little book containing advertisements, information 
about railways, &c, the use of which is authorized by the 
police. 

The cabs of Paris generally belong to companies. Their 
number is not limited by law ; but the prefect of police is very 
cautious in augmenting it. He is generally governed by the 
increasing number of the population according to the returns. 
Although the prices are so low, ranging from eleven to fifteen 
pence, a cab is a valuable property. Five thousand francs are 
given for the number alone. The owners are subject to actions 
for damages. 

It is only within the last half century that the police has 
taken the ca"b system under its care. Formerly, when free cabs 
were allowed to ply, the drivers were said to be often in com- 
munication with bands of robbers and assassins ; and used 
sometimes at night to drive likely-looking victims into retired 



STREET NOISES. 23 

quarters, where their confederates waited. There was a curious 
report published, containing illustrative facts. However, it is 
said to have been purposely exaggerated, because it was drawn 
up in the interest of capitalists who wished to establish a monop- 
oly. We can always find out grievances against anything we 
wish to destroy. There are still some free cabs, called voitures 
de remise, which stand under cover, are a little dearer, but more 
expeditious. 

Every class in Paris use cabs. On a rainy day, if you go 
to a stand, you are sure to find yourself in competition with 
men in blouses and women in caps. This arises partly from 
low prices, partly from the fact that omnibuses take such cir- 
cuitous routes, that they are comparatively useless on a sudden 
emergency. Besides, French people have a horror of umbrel- 
las; which they regard, with some truth, as a ridiculous piece 
of furniture. A milliner takes a cab when she brines home a 

o 

bonnet, and a washerwoman, dressed out neatly with a pretty 
bonnet on her head, uses the same mode of conveyance to dis- 
tribute clean shirts to her customers. Why are washerwomen 
in England always dirty, and those in France always clean ? 
This would make a fit subject for an academical essay. 

The street noises of Paris are different from those of London. 
In no quarter is there that continual roar of vehicles that stu- 
pefies a stranger on arriving in our capital. Formerly there 
were two or three sounds very characteristic. The dealers in 
cocks for fountains or portable reservoirs used to go about 
sounding a trumpet, always to one tune — that of the song 
which celebrates the tribulations of King Dagobert about his 
pantaloons. The police have forbidden this mode of attracting 
the attention of customers, as they have that adopted until re- 
cently by the water-sellers, who used to clang the handles of 
their metal pails as they went along ; they are now compelled 
to have pails with fixed handles. Street venders are not pre- 
vented from crying their wares, but their number has been con- 



24 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

siderably diminished by an ordoimance intended to captivate 
the good will of the shopkeepers, which forbids them the use of 
carts drawn by hand. 

Since the coup d'etat there has been a total suppression of 
all national airs and songs. It is now rare to hear an organ in 
the streets. Immediately after the fatal days of June, however, 
the "Marseillaise" emigrated to London. Even if it were not 
forbidden as a measure of precaution, it would now scarcely 
create the same enthusiasm in Paris as in Jersey. It is out of 
date ; and people would, if allowed, be much more inclined to 
sing the benefits of association and the identity of liberty and 
labour. " Mourir pour la Patrie" held its ground some time 
after the great revolutionary lyric had become unpopular, but 
has seldom been heard since 1849. During the latter days of 
the Republic the military bands played opera tunes, to escape 
the danger of political allusion. They are all now on the way 
to Palestine with young Dunois, or vowing in little hopping 
notes to watch over the safety of the Empire. " Veillons au 
salut de V Empire " is the musical chef doeuvre of that period, 
disastrous to taste as to liberty. It is said, that for a few 
months after the coup' d'etat the Savoyards were allowed to 
play national airs on their organs once a- fortnight, in order fi that 
the transition might not be too violent. They have now gone 
over to London, to give employment to our police magistrates. 
It is to be remarked, that the Empire has not produced any 
songs or tunes but satirical ones. The Republic was more fer- 
tile. The people improvised the air of the lampions in Febru- 
ary, and Pierre Dupont composed some of the finest lyrics and 
most stirring music that France can boast of. 

Along the boulevards and at the corners of the principal 
streets are stationed newspaper-sellers, whose trade has consid- 
erably fallen off of late. Except during the few months in 
which France tried the experiment of perfect liberty of discus- 
sion, and was weak enough not to learn by intuition what we 



NEWSPAPERS AND NEWSVENDERS. 25 

have learned by a hundred years of experience, these unfortu- 
nate people have been subject to all manner of persecutions. 
The great Constitutional party, which had got the majority in 
the Assembly, and whose fall is regretted by so many English- 
men, actually allowed the police to decide what papers should 
be sold in the streets ; and accordingly, under the Kepublic, all 
republican journals were forbidden, and those only allowed that 
represented the Orleanist, Legitimist, or Bonapartist factions. 
It was difficult to suppress the papers, but the object was sought 
to be gained indirectly by preventing their sale. The public, 
however, would not at first submit. Many newsvenders found 
it worth their while to carry on a contraband trade in republi- 
can journals. I remember, that on one occasion a woman came 
running into the passage of my house with a large bundle, 
which she threw into a dark corner. It appeared that a ser- 
gent-de-ville was in pursuit of her. She had sold a " National " 
at a shop round the corner, and had got awa}^ just in time. 
The sergent passed, looking to the right and left, but had not 
seen which way the poor woman had disappeared. By degrees 
the Parisians were wearied out by the difficulties thrown in 
their way. Some adopted the proper method of subscribing to 
the journals at the office; others went to the cafes; others 
ceased to read at all ; and others submitted to receive the pub- 
lications patronised by the Government. At present the 
number of papers published is very limited ; it is gradually 
diminishing, and people are becoming indifferent as to which 
they take. JSTo one looks at the leaders or believes the news. 
The few who really take interest in politics watch the variations 
of the Bourse, which may tell them how near or how distant 
is the anticipated catastrophe. Even these may grow tired of 
waiting. 

Apropos, it is well to observe that the French seem never to 
have understood the principle of a street-police. The reason is, 
that they have always had a contempt for law, and respect noth- 
S 



26 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

ing but force. They laugh at the staff of the constable, but 
cower before cold steel. In spite of my long residence in Paris, 
I never can help laughing when I see a band of fierce-looking 
chasseurs, armed with gun and bayonet, escorting a poor 
tramper with a child at her breast, or some shabby pickpocket. 
The means employed are too disproportionate to the end ; it is 
like firing a cannon at a fly. In France, people do not say they 
will " call the police," but they will " call the guard." To do 
the soldiers justice — though this remark, I am told, is not quite 
so applicable now as it used to be — I must say that they seem 
to forget on these occasions that they have arms in their hands 
and never resort to force but at the last necessity. However, 
being by position non-cognisant of the delicate distinctions of 
justice, when once their assistance is requested they fancy it to 
be necessary to arrest somebody : so that if the accused escape, 
they generally seize on the accuser. 

At night, patrols of soldiers move about the streets, warning 
ill-intentioned people to be off by the trampling of their feet. 
There is, however, a kind of street police, called sergents-de- 
ville; but wonderfully different from our burly constables. 
They are a sort of Alguazils in cocked hats, and armed with 
long rapiers, who hang about the corners of the streets, ready 
to pounce upon sickly-looking children who may be singing for 
a sou, to lord it over fruit-women, to take the numbers of carts 
that commit delinquencies, and, above all, to seize upon any 
one who may express a political opinion. After midnight they 
may often be met creeping stealthily along in Indian file, on 
the look out for malefactors. There was an attempt made in 
1848 to substitute for these bilious-looking scarecrows a band of 
street police ; but the chief innovation consisted in the use of a 
Calabrian brigand's hat, so that every now and then one might 
see coming round a corner figures like those which, at minor 
theatres, for eighte en-pence a-night, start out of the side-slips 
and advance in an odd, stooping posture, towards some single 



LEARNED POLICE. 27 

hero, who pokes at them with a pistol in an unaccountable 
way. 

A friend of mine was once riding in an omnibus, when a per- 
son who sat opposite to him, pointing to a woman standing near 
the kerb-stone, selling some cheap article, said, "There is a wo- 
man who ought to be arrested." On being asked why, he re- 
plied : " Because she is selling without the* permission of the 
police. I know it by the wandering of her eyes. I am used 
to that sort of thing. I was once in the police myself. We are 
great physiognomists in that walk of life, and learn to estimate 
every one we see in the street, and place them in the social 
scale they occupy. We are quite a learned body. Every day 
I used to attend two lectures. The first, on municipal law, 
which I was compelled to go to every day — I and all my fel- 
lows : the second, on the art of drawing up a proc^ s-verbal, or 
written deposition, from which I was let off when I became 
proficient." 

As a rule, the police are hated, not only by those with whom 
they interfere, but generally by all classes. A workman never 
says, ; ' There comes a policeman," but, " There comes a mou- 
chard, or spy." 

The fact is, these gentlemen cumulate both employments, 
and are much more active in pursuing political than other of- 
fenders. They know precisely what constitutes one of that 
frightful list of crimes invented by French legislation, in order 
to enable any government to pounce upon its opponents and 
put them in prison ; and are said to employ all their leisure 
hours in reading the opposition papers, in order to discover if 
there be any phrase that can be construed into an attempt " to 
excite the citizens to hate and despise one another ! " What 
fine work they would have in England, where it is becoming 
the fashion to accuse whoever differs from you on a point of di- 
plomacy of being sold to some foreign power ! 



CHAPTER III. 

The Eeader introduced to my Lodgings— Moving— Economy of a Paris House- 
Cheerful Streets— M. Mery in a Passion— Madame Joseph— Duties of a Porter- 
Arrangement of a Furnished Lodging— Cheapness— French and English Com- 
forts—Surveillance of the Police— Suicides— M. Proudhonc— the Porter and the 
Lodgers— Unsettled Population— Commentary on French Manners — Personal 
Observations— Eents. 

Many of the topics over which my pen has thus lightly tripped 
will probably present themselves again. What has been said 
will give some idea of street manners in Paris. To be com- 
plete in detail would take a volume ; and compendious pictures 
have so often been done, and well done, that I shall give no 
'opportunity for a comparison. I endeavour to touch on those 
points which have been slightly handled, and which illustrate at 
the same time the transition period in which we are living. 

Perhaps it may be as well now to suppose that my readers 
desire a rest, and will consent to accompany me into one of my 
lodgings. I say one; because I have obeyed the general law in 
Paris, and have been constantly on the move, though nearly 
always within the circumference of a single house. I have lived 
on the front and on the courtyard, and on every story from 
the second to the sixth. Sometimes I have crossed over the 
way, or made a short sojourn in some neighbouring street : but 
fate or habit has always brought me back to the same old 
place. I have thus become perfectly acquainted with my own 
quarter, initiated in all its mysteries ; and there is scarcely one 
of my neighbours within a musket-shot of whom I do not know 



MY LODGINGS. 29 

something — scandalous. In France, as elsewhere, evil reports 
are lighter than good ones, and come to the ear first. 

I used to be very proud of my lodging on the second floor. 
We should call it, on the third, because, in France, immediate- 
ly above the ground-floor, or rez-de-chaussee, is the entresol, 
equivalent to the Italian mezzonino. In old houses the rooms 
on this story are generally very low, as if flattened by the 
weight of the superincumbent mass. Those that look towards 
the street are inhabited for the most part by the tradesmen, 
whose shops and stores occupy the ground-floor. In Paris, as 
in the East, nearly every hotel or house is fronted by a row of 
shops, and the private entrance is under a large archway, or in a 
great courtyard beyond. I observe that this total difference in 
the arrangement of dwelling-places, which has a great influence 
on manners, always strikes new-comers, especially ladies, so that 
it is worth mentioning. 

There are a good many houses without a carriage entrance- 
Mine is one. Instead thereof, between a tailor's shop and a 
pastry-cook's, there is a broad, stone-paved passage, with a hand- 
some double door of open bronze-work, closed at night, but 
thrown back all day long, as most doors are in Paris. This 
constitutes one of the peculiar features of the streets, and gives 
them all that appearance of gaiety which is so much missed in 
London out of the great thoroughfares. It is not possible in 
Paris to turn suddenly out of a street, in which business roars 
like a torrent, into a cheerless double row of houses, whose in- 
habitants seem to have just received news of the arrival of a 
pestilence or an invading army. The- French complain bitterly 
of our unsocial architecture. Our dismal streets and closed 
shops on Sundays irritate them into all kinds of libellous spec- 
ulations ; and M. Mery, one of their writers who has undertaken 
to initiate them into the picturesque parts of our manners and 
customs, grows perfectly frantic at the sight of a long row of 
closed doors with impudent-looking knockers. He remembers 



30 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

the saying that the Englishman's house is his castle, and ex- 
hales his indignation in these words : " Order reigns in the 
streets of the cities, but brigandage triumphs between four 
walls under the inviolability of the house and the protection of 
the law. Every closed door may conceal a crime, and this door 
external justice is forbidden to open. Respect to clandestine 
crime ! War to public crime!" 

I will admit that the open doors make the streets of Paris 
look more lively. In fine weather, of evenings, the porters and 
their gossips sit or stand there ; and there are constantly people 
going in and out. The passages and staircases are, indeed, the 
private streets of Paris. If the street happen to be full of sun, 
you can scarcely, on entering my house, see the brass watercock 
in the passage, and are obliged almost to grope up-stairs. Do 
not imagine, however, if you have any felonious intentions, that 
your coming is unobserved. A short turn brings you in sight 
of a glass door on the landing of the entresol ; and before you 
reach it, Madame Joseph, the worthy concierge, is sure to be on 
the look-out, ready, if you are a stranger, to ask your business, 
in a tone sometimes needlessly imperative. Madame Joseph 
understands no nonsense. Her eyes are accustomed to that 
half-light ; and before you can make out her sex, she has sub- 
jected your physiognomy to a searching analysis. If your in- 
tentions are not strictly honest or moral, there is no chance for 
you. The best way is to go down faster than you came up. 
She can tell at once, she says, whether you are most like a rob- 
ber or an oyster. Even if you come to dun an unfortunate 
lodger, great cunning only can gain you permission to ascend. 
However, the wearers of hats are treated with some mercy. 
Bonnets that recklessly present themselves might as well apply 
at the door of a monastery or a dissecting-room. Pleas of re- 
lationship are futile. Cousins, and aunts, and nieces are seen 
through in a moment. They have a peculiar way of blushing 
and stammering as they speak, which expresses their degree of 
affinity at once. 



ECONOMY OF A PARIS HOUSE. 31 

It must not be supposed, however, that either in my house 
or in any other the porter has a recognised right to interfere 
with what kind of visitors the lodgers receive. Madame Joseph 
is a peculiarly arbitrary character, and has strict ideas of pro- 
priety. She wages dreadful war on all temporary liaisons. 
And yet victory is not always on her side. There are occasions 
when defeat becomes a necessity. It is useless even for her to 
resist the influence of a whole system of manners. Young men 
— and the house is almost entirely inhabited by bachelors — 
will, as Ophelia bears testimony, make rendezvous at their lodg- 
ings. Why give warning to one when his successor will do the 
same, or worse ? The greatest reformers are obliged to be con- 
tent with diminishing grievances, and Madame Joseph has rea- 
son to pride herself on the fact that she presides over the quiet- 
est and best-regulated house in which students ever congre- 



But we shall have more to say of porters and portresses 
Being in my company, even if you are a lady, you may come 
up without hesitation : you have only to fear a toss of the head 
as you go down, unless I accompany you, which politeness will 
forbid me to omit. Pray observe, that on each landing there 
are three doors. On the entresol, besides the porter, live two 
families — one the pastrycook's, the other the tailor's. The former 
have divided their single room into two or three by partitions. 
How they manage to exist in so small a space no one can tell* 
At one time there was the husband, the wife, an aunt, a 
marriageable daughter, a little girl, and a servant. Thousands 
of families in Paris pass some twenty years in this mean way 
that they may save enough to retire upon and buy a little cot- 
tage in the country ; but they contrive so to cramp and confine 
their minds as to be incapable of enjoying what they have 
worked for. Most of the other chambers and apartments are, 
as I have said, occupied by young men. There are five rooms, 
one above the other, over the porter's lodge, looking into a 



32 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

courtyard, narrow and deep, like a well. In the front of the 
house there are five apartments, consisting each of two diminu- 
tive rooms and a kitchen, and an equal number of single cham- 
bers. Above these is an artist's studio, with two or three 
garrets. 

Here is my hermitage, on the second floor above the entre- 
sol. Let me hope you will be as pleased with it as was I when 
first introduced. With my pecuniary intentions, I should have 
started back in dismay had they shown me into such a place 
in England. It was a multum in parvo. There were two 
windows, looking upon the street. Opposite these was the bed, 
standing in an alcove, not let into the wall, but built like a 
three-sided room within a room. Behind it was a corridor, 
serving as a communication between two small square spaces, 
shut in by glass-doors, nicely curtained ; one playing the part 
of an ante-chamber, the other of a dressing-cabinet. 

" Most convenient arrangement," observed a Frenchman, 
with a knowing smile, as he inspected the locality. " If an 
importunate visit interrupt a pleasant one, the pleasant one can 
slip into the dressing-room, pass round behind the bed, and 
so " 

I confess the idea had not struck me. 

The bedstead was of solid mahogany, with a mountain of 
mattresses, an elegant red woollen coverlet of network, and 
heavy crimson curtains running oh a mahogany rod with mahog- 
any rings. A prince might have been content with it. I was. 
The floor of the room was formed of small, narrow zigzaging 
boards, brightly waxed ; and all the furniture shone with elbow- 
varnish. The window-curtains, the sofa, the Voltaire, were all 
crimson and nearly new. I missed the musty smell that had driven 
me out of so many rooms. There was a large mirror over the 
mantelpiece, a handsome time-piece under a glass-case — invari- 
ably found in French furnished lodgings — elegant candlesticks ; 
everything, in fact, that was required for convenience or orna- 



FRENCH AND ENGLISH COMFORTS. 33 

ment. Between the two windows stood an article of furniture 
that won my heart immediately — a mahogany clothes-press, 
with a full-length mirror in the door. I at once determined to 
set up my rest there : and after a little faint bargaining agreed 
to pay forty-five francs for the room, and ten francs for service 
per month. 

Of course, custom diminished my admiration ; or, at least, 
induced me to express it in this form — that for eleven shillings a 
week I could not get anything so good as that in London. For 
the information of ladies I shall add that everything was inclu- 
ded, from linen to tea-spoons ; that I was invaded every morning 
at a fixed hour by a couple of people, one of whom made my 
bed, whilst the other waxed and polished the floor ; and that I 
was not expected to throw any perquisites in the way of the 
porter's family. They were generally three — husband, wife, and 
husband's sister ; but in busy seasons they were obliged to call 
in the assistance of a servant. 

It is common, I think, to exaggerate our superiority over the 
French in the possession of the comforts and conveniences of 
life. Certainly our great houses, ugly as they are outside, are 
most perfectly fitted up. But, perhaps, comfort is more gener- 
ally diffused in Paris. A bachelor living in a single room is 
fifty times better off in France than he would be in England. 
Small families contrive with limited incomes to surround them- 
selves with elegances — which are the comforts of the mind. 
Oil lamps of handsome shape are in general use, and composi- 
tion has almost entirely displaced the odious tallow. Many 
respectable people with us hide their floors with threadbare 
carpets. The French waxed parquets are always neat. Even 
the stone flooring is painted and polished. Above all, a French 
bed is superior to an English one. The use of straw mattresses 
has gone out. They are superseded by what are called somrniers, 
or solid mattresses with a wooden framework and springs ; 
price from thirty-five francs upward. Above this is placed a 
3* 



34 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS, 

wool-stuffed mattress, then a feather-bed, and then another 
mattress. No French people will sleep on down. In winter, 
a large light cushion, called an edredon, is placed upon the 
bed, instead of additional blankets. Opinions differ about 
fire-places. An English grate, well polished, is certainly 
cheerful-looking, but the brass-headed dogs and the crackling 
wood fire mixed with coal have also their advantages. The 
great lack is of fenders, which are only now coming into use 
amongst middling people. In my room, as throughout the 
house, the fire-place is furnished with what is called a trap, by 
lowering or raising which the draught is regulated. By the 
way, little boys still mount the chimneys, and sing national 
songs when they get to the top. The French, who talk so 
much of progress, never dream of those minor improvements by 
which the small oppressions of society are redressed. 

Furnished houses are kept under very strict surveillance by 
the police. The ostensible object is to prevent them from be- 
coming the resort of thieves and other disreputable characters. 
But the real object is to enable the Government to carry out its 
favourite system of intermeddling with and directing, as far as 
it can, the lives of the citizens. Every keeper of a furnished 
house is obliged to have a book, in which lodgers are requested 
to sign their names on entry. The penalty, exacted for an omis- 
sion of this formality is very severe. The house may be shut 
up, and the master put in prison. Spies constantly go about to 
examine the books, and see that no omission is made. It is 
surprising that the French, in all their changes of government, 
have never thought of abolishing this impertinent interference 
with their private affairs. If you suggest such a thing to a 
Frenchman, his mind instantly puts itself in what may be called 
a government posture. Individual interests cease to occupy 
him. Society — and this singular mode of thinking has had 
more influence on the history of France than at first sight ap- 
pears possible — is at once subordinated to the police, instituted 
for its protection. He thinks merely of the best theoretical 



SUICIDES. 35 

means of enabling the authorities to lay their hands upon crim- 
inals, and cannot balance in his mind the conflicting advantages 
of perfect liberty and complete surveillance. His tendency, in 
this as in all other things, is to ease his own shoulders at the 
expense of the State ; which, in his conception, is a being whose 
duty it is to perform every possible act which does not absolute- 
ly require individual exertion. 

Perhaps, from the very construction of their houses, the idea 
which is so displeasing to M. Mery, that a man's dwelling should 
be inviolable, could never occur to the French as it has to us. 
They have, however, the same conception in an absurd form. 
If a Frenchman knows that a fellow-creature in a room upon 
the landing on which he lives is dying, by accident or by suicide, 
his impulse is not to kick open the door, but to send for the 
commissary of police, that this may be done with due formality. 
The law is the only permitted burglar. This reminds one of 
China, where no man will endeavour to save a drowning per- 
son for fear of being found in company with the dead body, 
and being hanged for murder. Indeed, the resemblance is still 
stronger. I know an instance in which a foreign medical man 
was prevented from touching the body of a woman who had 
leaped out of a window, in order to ascertain if life were really 
extinct. The body was left lying in the street for two hours — 
of course, under the guard of soldiers with fixed bayonets and a 
lantern (it was some time after midnight), until the commissary 
chose to get up. 

In spite of all the formalities I have mentioned, supposed 
to be directed so effectually against dishonest persons, the de- 
tective police of France, even assisted by the system of passports, 
is less effectual than ours in England. Nothing is more com- 
mon than for a well-known criminal, or escaped convict, to slip 
through the fingers of the police for years. Political offenders 
are proverbially invisible. When M. Proudhon was condemned 
to three years' imprisonment, he publicly announced that, as he 



86 PURPLE TINTS OP PARIS. 

had some family affairs to settle, he did not choose to be arrest- 
ed at once ; and he remained in Paris more than a week at 
large in spite of all the ability of the police, furious at being 
thus set at nought. 

I remember, at that time, being present at a soiree where 
this matter was discussed. A Legitimist deputy, with great 
appearance of confidence, announced that the great Socialist dia- 
lectician had run away in order to avoid suffering for the cause 
he had so long advocated with his pen. Some imprudent friend 
and admirer of Proudhon immediately exclaimed that this was 
not true, adding, " I saw him walking this morning in the Pa- 
lais Royal with M. ." Next day the worthy Legitimist, 

anxious to get his colleague arrested, went to the Chambers, and 
taking the Minister of the Interior aside, informed him of what 

he had heard. The Minister said, " I must not ask M. 

(also a deputy), if this be true, because he will not answer me ; 
but I will send some one to worm the fact out of him." M. 
Proudhon's friend, however, was too wary ; and this disgraceful 
affair had no result. The anecdote is worth recording, because 
it illustrates the virulence of party-passions in France, and the 
total want of gentlemanly feeling carried into political contests. 
If an English member of Parliament could be condemned for 
writing a smart article in a paper, what colleague could be 
found to assist the police in laying hands on him ? 

Very few houses in Paris, furnished or not, are without a 
porter. The number of these officials is said to be forty-five 
thousand. In some cases they are retired soldiers with small 
pensions ; in others, they eke out their living by working at va- 
rious trades : and it is common to see a little bill hung up, say- 
ing, "the porter cobbles," "the porter tailors," "the porter goes 
of errands," &c. Generally, the pay is so low that it would be 
impossible to live on it. There are some " doors," it is true, 
worth twelve hundred francs ; but eight or ten pounds is more 
commonly given. In houses like mine, the porter earns a good 



THE POUTER AND THE LODGERS. 87 

deal by acting as servant to the various lodgers ; in others, his 
complaisances of different kinds are paid. He is, of course, 
lodged free, and certain privileges are attached to the office. 
For example, he receives a present called the denier a Dieu 
when a lodging is taken — say, from two to five francs ; when 
wood is brought in, he claims the largest log for himself; and, 
of course, is not forgotten on New-year's day. 

The porter and his wife are often at war with the poorer 
lodgers. This state of hostility seems to give a zest to their exist- 
ence. Armistices, are, however, frequently declared ; and I 
have observed that the portress is for a short period the bosom 
friend by turns of each of her female lodgers — perhaps just long 
enough, to worm out all the scandal current about the remainder. 

A porter has many ways of being disagreeable. Perhaps 
it is necessary to explain, for the benefit of the untravelled, that 
after nightfall, when the door is closed, egress and ingress are 
afforded by means of a string communicating from the lodge 
to the latch. A belated tenant is known by his ring, and unless 
he be in the good books, is sure to be kept cooling his heels until 
his patience is exhausted. Moreover, letters are delivered by 
the postman to the porter, who is bound to pay the postage, and 
who, in very extreme cases of antipathy, contrives to forget the 
missive in a drawer for several days. I have been rather for- 
tunate myself, but, as a rule, the porters do not bear a very 
good reputation ; for they are accused of fawning to the first 
and second floors, of treating the third and fourth with impu- 
dent familiarity, of being insolent to the fifth, and tyrannical to 
all above. As in most countries, however, those who pay well 
are well treated, and those who are behindhand with their rent 
come in for sauciness and neglect. 

There are four periods of the year at which the streets of 
Paris assume a peculiar aspect, being filled with vans, carts, 
trucks, and porters, moving to and fro under burthens of furni- 
ture, in a state of greater or less preservation. This is in the 



38 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

first halves of the months of January, April, July, and October 
— for the French quarter ends on the eighth for small lodgings, 
and on the fifteenth for large ones. At these times, saving ex- 
aggeration, one half of the population shifts its quarters. It 
has been calculated that the average number of lodgings to let 
amounts nearly to thirty thousand. Some few great families 
still retain their hotels, and leave them in charge of a servant, 
or of the porter, when they go into the country at the period 
fixed by the law of fashion. As a general rule, however, even 
the rich change their lodgings often. The poor and the middle 
classes are essentially migratory. Few persons inhabit the same 
house for more than a year. Many change oftener. The rea- 
son of this inconstancy they cannot explain. I attribute it in a 
great measure to the uncomfortable system of living which they 
have inherited from their ancestors, and which they are forced 
to continue by the peculiar construction of their city. The 
French are fond of freedom, and no man that lives in lodgings 
can be free. He must, to some extent, be under the tyranny of 
his porter, or of his neighbours. This tyranny increases with 
time. It is not felt for the first quarter, it is tolerable the next, 
but it soon becomes past bearing, and the victim determines to 
move, hoping to be at more liberty elsewhere. Long leases are 
almost unknown in France. 

I have already threatened to speak a good deaf of myself, in 
which habit the public have hitherto been kind enough to in- 
dulge me. If I do so, it is not because I fancy my movements 
to be particularly interesting, but because narrative clings close 
to the surface of fact, and omits none of its sinuosities ; whilst 
dissertation, looking from a greater distance, takes in the grand 
outlines, and purposely neglects minor details. This book will 
be a running commentary on those pages of French manners 
which I have perused. It is based on some thousands of notes, 
written down at various times, or floating about my brain un- 
written. The idea of describing one's place of permanent resi- 



COMMENTARY ON FRENCH MANNERS. 39 

dence is always an after-thought. Perhaps a stranger, arriving 
with all his senses thrown back on their hinges to receive 
impressions, may gather a completer picture, though with colours 
and forms somewhat confounded. I have only observed French 
society piecemeal, or, rather, French society has forced itself 
upon my notice under certain aspects. These I will endeavour 
to describe, without seeking by special study to fill up gaps or 
accumulate illustrations. 

Many things, however, that are valuable to know are not 
good to be told. Thousands of facts and observations are now 
crowding upon me, from which I must select with care. Where, 
too, is the limit between a record of experiences and a confession ? 
This question troubles me, and will explain many hesitations 
and lacunes as I advance. Let it not be imagined that I hint 
myself the hero of any romantic adventure ; but a confession 
touches others than one's self. These pages will be published 
within twelve hours of Paris, and friends will peruse them 
eagerly in search of reasons why they should hate me. Some 
suppressions and some artifices will be required to disappoint 
them. 

I have always found, that the observations on manners 
which most indelibly impress themselves on the memory are 
those afforded by the incidents of ordinary life — the events 
that please or displease, that make one uncomfortable or hap- 
py — not those collected as an indifferent spectator. For exam- 
ple, I believe that I am perfectly acquainted with the mysteries 
of housetaking on a small scale, in all its branches, whilst the 
great formalities connected with the transfer of property and 
other solemn acts of life, although they have been all detailed 
to me, have left but a confused reminiscence. As much as pos- 
sible, I shall keep to the first class of facts, only abandoning 
them when absolutely necessary. 

I have already mentioned the rent of my lodgings. The 
apartments in the same house containing a little sitting-room, 



40 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

a bed-room, a kitchen, and an ante-chamber, never let furnished, 
are from 340 to 360 francs per annum. They pay what we 
should call assessed,. taxes, being over the rent of 300 francs. 
The rooms looking on the courtyard are from 140 to 160 
francs a-year, when let unfurnished ; when furnished, from 30 
to 35 francs a month. The little rooms, or mansardes, at the 
top of the house — (a mansarde is, properly speaking, a room 
in which one or more of the walls incline inwards, according to 
the slope of the roof) — pay 100 francs a-year. In some quar- 
ters a lodging may be obtained even much below this ; but it 
will, of course, more resemble a cupboard than a room. Many 
young men of respectable position live in these upper rooms, 
which, however, are generally occupied by workpeople. Young 
girls who work on their own account as milliners, those who 
prepare bottines for the shoemakers, waiscoat-sewers, &c, gen- 
erally have their nests in these far-up places, the windows of 
which they convert into. hanging gardens, often in defiance of 
the police, which has a strong objection to flowep-pots in such a 
position. 



CHAPTEE IV. 



French and English— Mutual Ignorance— Celts and Anglo-Saxons— Our Country- 
men Abroad — Beards — Beau ideal of an Englishman — Londoners at Boulogne — 
Politeness — Odd Prejudices— Sight-seeing— How to collect Information— French 
Mistakes— International Sbarp-shooting — A Cockney at Table— Vulgarity — The 
Pocket Dictionary— Scene of Eeconciliation— The Sabbath— Morality and Im- 
morality. 

\ 

I have sometimes wondered that France and England should 
have been so long neighbours without being better acquainted 
with e&ch other's manners and character. The reason may be 
found in the constant hostility of their governments. We can- 
not appreciate people that we fight with : it is against nature. 
Savages do not shake hands like cultivated ruffians after 
what is called a fair fight, and there is enough of the genu- 
ine savage in us all to make us hate those by whom we 
have been beaten, and despise those whom we have beaten. 
Friendly intercourse has increased of late, but the good effect 
has only been partial. Many excellent people think it proper 
to make show of abandoning ancient prejudices. This is some- 
thing ; but at bottom there is little real sympathy, and heredi- 
tary dislikes, thinly skinned over, are always breaking out in 
fresh places. Caesar and Antony could not meet without speck- 
ling their friendly dialogue with recriminations. We are still 
divided, not only by conflicting interests, but by inherited preju- 
dices. The proportion of our independent judgments to the 
opinions we derive from tradition is indeed wonderfully small 
Most minds are made up of hereditary scraps ; and I have often 
been surprised to find in my own case convictions that were the 



42 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

result of reasoning, conflicting, almost in vain, with other con- 
victions that already existed, and came I know not whence. 
Most Englishmen and most Frenchmen seem to be in this 
doubtful state about their mutual characters. 

As an instance of the manner in which the leaders of public 
opinion in France perform their duty, I will mention that M. 
Emile de Girardin, who, after all, is perhaps the first political 
writer of his country, not many months ago allowed one of his 
correspondents to publish a grave statement that England at 
this present moment oppresses the Irish " because they are of 
Celtic race and not Anglo-Saxons." Let us check the smile 
which this absurdity provokes. Is it not probable that every 
day we commit blunders nearly as- great about France ? I do 
not pretend that in the course of these pages I shall not furnish 
M. Pascal Duprat with materials for triumphant recrimination. 
I shall try, however, to avoid those mistakes which have their 
origin in prejudice and passion. 

From what I have observed of English travellers, I think 
that their powers of observation are strong, whenever they are 
not too much disturbed by the idea of their superiority. I have 
met many of my countrymen abroad who seem to have pre- 
pared themselves to observe by a long course of self-examina- 
tion — models of impartiality, good faith, and desire of know- 
ledge, which no other nation can produce, because no other 
nation, not even Spain, can forget the pride of its origin. An 
average Englishman, however, has still a lurking belief in one 
article of his school-boy creed ; namely, that he can beat two 
Frenchmen. This belief does not develope itself commonly in 
fisty-cuffs, but in a tendency to depreciate every thing he sees. 
He is constantly reversing the first sentence in the " Sentimental 
Journey : " — " They manage these things much better in Eng- 
land " is the translation of his thoughts. There is no state of 
mind more hostile to the acquirement of truth. If he really 
wished to profit by his experience abroad, he would try and 



OUR COUNTRYMEN ABROAD. 43 

furnish himself with the idea that England is not in all, though 
it may be in most things, the first country in the world. At 
any rate, Contempt is a bad fellow-traveller. There are, per- 
haps, also some small features in our character and manners 
which are or seem ridiculous. A few of our habits are not 
precisely in accordance with the laws of Nature. If " Thou 
shalt not wear a beard," for example, is an article in our deca- 
logue of fashion, we have scarcely a right to confound our 
neighbours with the lower creation for holding another faith. 

The frame of mind in which some Englishmen set out on 
their travels, with reference to this capillary department, brings 
them into droll contact with the French, who do not understand 
a joke of which they are the subject. I remember to have 
seen a Londoner, with his face blazing with good humour, play- 
fully pull the ear of a prim bearded waiter in a cafe on the 
Boulevards, because the American grog came not quick enough 
to his table. The act was meant as good-humoured notice of 
the half-brother of a baboon, and the unhappy gentleman was 
astonished and grieved to find that his jocularity was taken as 
an insult. It need not be added that his vast hemispherical 
chin was scrupulously shaved. Our beau ideal of a human 
being, indeed, requires that he should be tightly encased in 
clothes, strapped, buckled, braced; and, above all, that two 
blinkers should conceal the contour of the face. There is cer- 
tainly something highly respectable in this costume, although it 
would not be suitable to a prophet or an apostle. We require, 
also — no doubt on philosophical principles — that the upper lip 
and a certain portion of the chin (individual taste is allowed 
some latitude in this respect) should be clean shaved ; whilst it 
is necessary, and ladies are particularly severe on this point, that 
an enormous bunch of hair — the envy of boys and the despair 
of artists — should stick out on either side. An English ghost 
must be a strange-looking object. I wish, for reasons all of 
which need not be told, that La Fossette, when she drove the 



44 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

word " whisker " out of the court of Navarre, had driven the 
thing itself out of the world. This, however, is merely a pic- 
turesque fancy, for, as I have said, a full-dressed Englishman 
with a tun of stomach is stupendously respectable to look at. 
All I ask is, that my countrymen should not be surprised at 
being recognised a hundred and fifty yards off, just as they 
themselves would recognise an Iroquois or a Chinese. I was 
going to say something about the costume of English ladies, 
but I have already been impertinent on that point, and shall 
only add, that they do not require the profusion of ornaments 
they are so fond of, and that we should not love them less if 
they condescended to diminish their circumference. The idea 
of buoyancy enters certainly into the definition of an angel ; 
but what sentimental emotions can be roused by a balloon ? 

When Englishmen land at Boulogne or Havre, they are 
immediately taken in charge by the police; at which they 
seem surprised, not knowing the customs of the country. I 
have no doubt that Frenchmen, on reaching the opposite shore, 
are rather hurt at noticing the perfect indifference of the au- 
thorities. Each nation has its ways. On finding itself between 
two lines of stern moustached individuals, armed with muskets, 
the sturdy English spirit of independence is at once ruffled, 
and there is sometimes an uncalled for display of feeling. Calm 
London tradesmen, accustomed to be obsequious to aristocratic 
customers, quote Lord Palmerston's saying, "Civis Romanus 
sum" and make all sorts of disagreeable remarks upon their 
guardians. Some, looking big through their shirt-collars, talk 
in an off-hand way about those d — d Frenchmen. The police 
understand that one word of our language. At any rate they 
know that, according to Locke's expression, it is not meant for 
commendation. They revenge themselves by treating their 
prisoners almost as churlishly as would Custom-house officers in 
England. The travelling Cockney, impatient to collect observa- 
tions on men and manners, immediately begins to talk of the 



THE FILLE DE CHAMBRE. 45 

" cussed " want of politeness to which he is subjected; "and 
in France, too ! " — this is said with a bitter sneer — " by the 
most polished nation in Europe ! " As if, however, in order to 
illustrate the truth that opinions are nearly always hereditary, 
or borrowed, and that experience cannot modify them, the same 
individual takes the first opportunity of delivering himself of an 
observation, to the effect that the politeness of Frenchmen 
"consists more in mere forms, whilst we are at bottom really 
more polite." Without examining how polite we are at bottom, 
let us remember that politeness is only a form. However, it is 
useless to make this objection to a solid Englishman. He will 
only stare, look puzzled, and repeat his old observation in the 
same words, with a little louder voice. Our honest countrymen 
are, perhaps, not alone in believing that repetition is reasoning. 
At any rate, they have some darling aphorisms, which it would 
give them more pain to be deprived of than of half their teeth. 
The French are certainly an immoral nation — there is no 
doubt of that ; but they are not so systematically immoral as 
some of our scampish tourists seem to suppose. A wild Cock- 
ney once arrived at Boulogne, and having safely escaped from 
the police and the female porters, found himself in an hotel. 
It was midnight ; the waiter sleepily gave him his candle, but 
instead of retiring to rest he lingered in the passage, and said, 
with an expressive grin, " Fil de chamber, eh ? " He evidently 
laboured under some romantic illusion as to the nature of the in- 
stitution of ftlles de chambre in French hotels. I happened to 
be passing on the way to my room, and — being a Cockney my- 
self, and therefore sympathetic with his distress — endeavoured 
to explain the matter to him ; but he only looked cunning, and 

said, " D immoral nation this, sir : so I'm told ! " 

Many of the odd opinions which neighboring nations enter- 
tain of each other are probably founded upon real facts, the 
purport of which is misunderstood or exaggerated.^ "We have often 
been convulsed with laughter by accounts of huge mistakes 



46 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

made by Frenchmen with respect to our manners and customs. 
It is useful to learn that many of us fall into strange errors in 
speaking of France. Being a nation of travellers, we have fre- 
quent opportunities of correcting our grosser mistakes ; but 
these opportunities are not so fruitful as they might be. We 
rush along seeing sights — the most dreary occupation to which 
man can be condemned — the treadmill of curiosity — and forget 
that it is worth while to notice the people whom we elbow at 
every step. We study national characteristics in the persons of 
hotel-waiters, and guides, and are not uninfluenced by the length 
of the bills" we have to pay. Most Englishmen, therefore, re- 
turn from their travels with half-a-dozen new prejudices added 
to those they took out with them. I could give fifty instances 
of their mode of proceeding. One will suffice. A gentleman 
of my acquaintance travelled in twelve hours and a half from 
London to Paris, where he remained a week, had an interview 
with the Minister of Foreign Affairs, left his card on the Minis- 
ter of Public Works, saw M. Cousin pass in a cab, got hustled 
in a vast crowd that had turned out to see some fireworks at 
the Barriere de l'Etoile, and came back believing, or saying, 
that he had associated with the public men of France, and 
mingled with the people even in their sports and pastimes. " T 
have collected," quoth he, " a vast amount of information, and 
shall certainly publish a volume." If he had stayed a " fort- 
night," he might have been entitled to do so, that being the 
amount of time which is now considered sufficient for an ap- 
preciation of the character and condition of a people. 

I once explained a variety of the mistakes made by for- 
eigners about England to a French gentleman of some literary 
acquirements. I told him, for example, that by the Chiltern 
Hundreds was not meant an office of "high honour and emolu- 
ment near the person of the Queen ; " that every Englishman 
who engaged in politics was not entitled to be called " Sir," 
and, by the way, that it excited merriment in us to read of the 



THE ENGLISH ARISTOCRACV. 4*7 

doings of Sir Peel and Sir Graham. Proceeding from these 
minor matters, I added that it was a mistake to suppose that 
the English aristocracy was a powerfully constituted body, that 
levied taxes directly on the rest of the community — though 
they are always trying to do so indirectly ; and observed, also, 
that there was such a thing as a middle class in England, and that 
the country, therefore, was not divided into classes of extreme 
wealth and extreme poverty. He was unprepared to contradict 
me, and indeed rather believed what I said than otherwise, but 
could not be persuaded of the obvious truth, that so long as a 
nation kept itself in such a state of ignorance as to require these 
corrections, it was incapable of pronouncing philosophically on 
our national character. The French are very fond of attribu- 
ting to themselves a power of generalisation. They believe that 
they can divine the character of a people by a single trait. Per- 
haps they have been led into this error by finding that some 
of their great writers affect to paint a nation or a period by a 
fact; but they forget that this fact, if it really answers its pur- 
pose, has been sifted from amidst a thousand. 

Of course, in alluding to the ignorance that prevails in 
the two countries of one another, I speak not of the elite but 
of the average amongst the educated. Many a Frenchman, 
whose mind is stored with all the new and poetical ideas of the 
age, and sharpened by the severe discipline of the Polytechnic 
School, will sneer at the eaters of "rosbif" and potatoes, at the 
speakers of a language which is not -written as it is pronounced, 
at the people who have founded an empire by low trickery and 
mercenary soldiers, Swiss and others — a Genevese regiment is 
reported to have assisted in gaining the battle of Alexandria ; 
and an Englishman who has fed, or ought to have' fed, on the 
first literature of modern Europe, who is every day busy with 
the great themes of civil strife, has little better to retort than 
that Johnny Crapeau is a very good cook, makes elegant gim- 
cracks, knows nothing about governments except how to destroy 



48 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

them, and lives chiefly on frogs. All these little absurdities, 
even when accumulated, — all this international sharp-shooting, 
— may not seem of much importance, but I have noticed that 
in daily life, if from some accident of intercourse we accustom 
ourselves to ridicule the foibles of a friend, it is often difficult 
at the most critical moments, to treat him with that respect 
which we should ourselves desire to show. Many a man has 
been prevented from playing a serious part in life by a nick- 
name. 

It has already been laid down as an axiom by the most 
cheerful of travellers, that an Englishman does not travel to see 
Englishmen ; nor ought he to travel to eat English food. Yet 
many a Cockney sighs after the first day for the solid dishes of 
his native land, and keeps himself in a state of perpetual misery 
lest he should be poisoned by what is set before him. He 
makes faces at the red wine, fancying it to be charged with 
cholera, mistakes its tart flavour for sourness, and if he venture 
on a draught, calls immediately for an alcoholic antidote. Even 
with this protection, for some hours all the faculties of his mind 
set guard upon his stomach, waiting for the first disastrous 
symptom. Sometimes, however, he complains of the pale 
brandy, and asks piteously for genuine British. "None of your 
coniac for me." There is a constant trade carried on between 
London and Paris in articles doctored for the English taste, and 
it would appear that the French pharmacopoeia contains no in- 
gredients that will act on our rebellious organisations. 

A regular green Cockney, who has perhaps made his last 
meal off that indescribable mess called beefsteaks and oyster- 
sauce in some villa overlooking Battersea Fields, when he first 
sits down to a table d'hote, thinks it necessary to grumble at 
everything put before him ; partly, it is true, in order to "over- 
hawe those rascally Crapeaus." That he may be perfectly un- 
derstood, he expresses himself by pantomimic display, pretends 
to be sick, makes wry faces, calls for a glass of " ho " to wash . 



THE POCKET DICTIONARY. 49 

his mouth after some "infernal " mess, and so contrives to con- 
vince himself that he is a very humorous fellow, and the com- 
pany that he and all his countrymen are brutes. Of course 
this extravagant conduct is not pursued by all or by most 
Englishmen ; but the mild and gentlemanly pass unperceived, 
whilst the others attract attention and are taken as types of our 
character. The French are only too much inclined to despise 
us. They seize on these examples with delight. It is a com- 
mon saying amongst them, that in manners, and everything 
that constitutes real civilisation , we are the most backward 
nation in Europ . The Abbe Lamennais once repeated this 
remark to me, in a tone of regret and profound conviction. 

In the course of the dinner, Cockney will probably refer to 
his pocket vocabulary, and, guided by the hints it gives him of 
Parisian pronunciation, will playfully call the waiter a " patty 
couchon." By the way, one of these valuable guides tells the 
munificent traveller to ask for a dozen of Rhenish wine in the 
following words : " Ungh douzangh dah vangh dah Rangh." 
It may easily be imagined what kind of conversation can be 
kept up with such assistance, especially when the information is 
given that the French language is spoken through the nose. 
,Our Cockney snorts all through the dinner most unintelligible 
gibberish. When he has got a little merry he wants to " take 
wine" with the ladies, according to our singular custom. They 
understand that he means to be polite, and decline with a 
smile that puts all sorts of fantastical fopperies into his head. 
He calls them "jolly fams," and gets into better repute by 
sending champagne glasses all round the table, to the tune of 

the expense. At dessert, unless his thoughts revert to 

the "fil de chamber," — wine makes the English sentimental — 
he volunteers a song, and delicately gives " Rule Britannia," 
to which some commercial traveller retorts by " Jamais en 
France V Anglais ne regnera" which, by some singular bias of 
taste, has been adopted almost as a national song, although it 
4 



50 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

recalls a period of humiliation. Meanwhile Cockney grunts 
painfully as he fumbles with his book. Having caught the 
word Anglais, he thinks he is listening to a compliment. But 
not finding words to express his delight, like an innane animal 
that he is, he starts up, and seizing the singer in his arms, shouts 
" Viv' la France ! " The company, with great tact, respond " Vive 
1'Angleterre ! " and Cockney sits down wiping his brow with 
his napkin, and imagining that he has effected a lasting recon- 
ciliation between the two countries. There is nothing more 
absurd than the boisterous enthusiasm which some Englishmen 
think it necessary to affect as soon as they find themselves in 
company with Frenchmen. Every one is liable to fall into ex- 
aggeration who endeavours to assume a character. 

It is worth observing that our most staid countrymen, even 
prudent and pious Presbyterians, who would shun Cremorne 
Gardens as a sort of ante-chamber of the infernal regions, and 
who are clamorous for the observance of the Sabbath, imme- 
diately on arriving in Paris hasten to inquire after those famous 
dancing places of which they have heard so much, and to mix 
in all their boisterous merriment. As they are to be seen in 
their greatest glory on Sunday, that day is generally chosen ; 
so that the same men who charitably excommunicate their 
fellow- creatures for endeavouring to give the working-classes 
the opportunity of visiting the Crystal Palace without an im- 
proper sacrifice of time, trusting to the incognito of distance, 
promenade their portly forms through crowds of half-mad 
students and lorettes at Mabille or the Chateau des Fleurs on 
the mellow Sabbath evenings of summer. I may here remark, 
that if amongst the dancers at these places you observe any one 
whose indecency is brutal, who imitates all the coarse gestures 
of the Brindejoncs, without being able to catch one atom of 
their grace, he is almost sure to be an Englishman. " I am not 
a virtue," said Mademoiselle Papillon, pushing away a fat, red- 
faced Cockney, " but I am a woman." It may seem odd to 



MORALITY AND IMMORALITY. 51 

say so, but this offensive conduct arises from the strict moral 
education of the English. They cannot conceive degrees of 
impropriety. Fortunate is the nation of which this can be 
observed with truth. I complain of its results merely from 
one point of view, and hope that I may ever have reason 
to complain. When Englishwomen cease to be chaste they 
astonish foreigners by their extravagances, and fill them with 
strange notions of our country ; but this is no reason for relax- 
ing the rigidity of that code, according to which the first step 
from virtue traverses an abyss. 



CHAPTEE Y. 



Our judgments on the French — The " fickle " Nation — Historical Parallels— Our 
Mobility — Jokes on the French — Eoutine in Literature— Friendships— Eeligion 
— "Wars of Conscience — M. Mignet — Deliberative Assemblies — Aversion to Travel 
— Nostalgia — Female Emigrant— Our Eoughnessess— National Dislikes— A bluff 
old Sailor — Liberty and Equality— A Legitimist Confession — Political Sympathies 
— Trees of Liberty— Plantation of Crosses — Absurdities of Fanaticism. 

In my paternal solicitude for the comfort and improvement 
of young English travellers on the Continent, I would put them 
on their guard in one particular especially. Let them distrust 
every axiom, every cant saying, every epigrammatic judgment, 
which is current in England on the subject of France. Many 
of our notions are so deep-rooted, that the most candid persons 
unconsciously applying them are incapacitated from arriving at 
truth. As far as I can discover, they are chiefly based on mis- 
conceptions and prejudices. They are rather the representatives 
of our own state of mind with referee ce to the French, of 
traditions of past times, of applications of local or national ideas 
very far removed from original principles, than the result of 
any correct analysis, or even of that instinctive perception which 
sometimes takes the place of reason, and performs its office 
with rapidity and success. Of course, the truth of this remark 
depends on the truth of my conception of the French character. 
I shall set down some of the common notions, and do my best 
to show how far they are at present incorrect. 

The very first observation which an average Englishman 
makes, when asked what he thinks of the French, is, that they 



53 

are " fickle." The same epithet is generally applied to the 
people in general, in every country, by those who appear pro- 
found in social philosophy. As far as regards the French, the 
accusation — if it be one — seems to arise from the fact that they 
have several times changed their government during the last 
sixty years, and indicates either great ignorance or great care- 
lessness of speculation in those that make it. "We might as 
well call Nature fickle, because of the innumerable varieties of 
aspect which she assumes during the march of the seasons. The 
political changes, as they are called, that have taken place in 
France, are simply the successive phases of one great struggle 
between the two opposite principles of liberty and authority ; and 
if there has been a constant alteration in the forms of govern- 
ment, this arises, partly from the radical incapacity of the 
French mind for political affairs, partly from the fact that the 
opposing parties are equally balanced. No one ever thought 
of calling the soldiers w T ho fought on either side at Waterloo, 
fickle, because victory seemed now to declare on one side and 
now upon the other. French society is, and will be for some 
time, in a state of war. We may deplore, we may stigmatise ; 
but it shows a wonderful negligenee of observation to detach 
the effects, namely, the successive changes of government, from 
the myriad causes which produce them, and to say, " Lo ! what 
a fickle nationals this ! " The real reason why the French have 
often changed their form of government is, that they have not 
yet been able to invent anything that will suit them. If we 
were as foolish we should still be more fickle. 

I do not like historical parallels, as they are called. They 
generally confound our ideas of two periods, enlightening us on 
neither. But in this case, I may at least allude to one that 
might be drawn. During the middle ages, our changes of 
dynasties, our insurrections and perturbations, were at least as 
extraordinary as those of our neighbours. When the Refor- 
what followed ? We changed our religion by 



54 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

statute as much as by conviction ; we then deposed a king, and 
condemned him to death ; we submitted to a military tyrant, 
who claimed the legitimacy of genius ; we returned to the old 
reigning family ; we expelled that family a second time ; we 
witnessed two subsequent rebellions, one of which was barely 
unsuccessful ; and after having passed through a period of un- 
speakable degradation, in which literature and art partook of 
the miserable depravity that had invaded our politics and our 
morals, were fast approaching a revolution when the French 
frightened us into comparative tranquillity. Our neighbours, 
in the meantime, had not changed their religion nor their form 
of polity, in spite of their fickleness ; but submitted with incred- 
ible patience to a long series of oppressions. It is unnecessary 
to pursue the parallel farther in detail, for this is quite sufficient 
to suggest the unphilosophical mode of reasoning of those who 
pretend to make a comparison between English stability and 
French mobility. Thank God we are not stable. We have 
nothing of that Chinese faculty about us, however the lovers of 
immobility may try to persuade us to the contrary, in order to 
influence our actions for their own purposes. The fact is, that 
there is no nation on the face of the earth in which customs, 
manners, laws, and opinions succeed one another so rapidly as 
with us. A history of the variations of the English mind would 
be a marvellous undertaking. 

As a proof -of the relative rapidity with which the two 
nations change, I may notice that the tone in which we used 
to satirise the French in the time of Shakespeare is considered 
applicable now by many ; whilst we should not understand the 
jokes made against us even in the last century. Perhaps, 
however, we have inherited the jokes of the Elizabethan age 
without caring for their application. 

In other departments besides politics, I do not find that the 
French are peculiarly fond of change. In literature there has, 
perhaps, been no nation so enslaved to routine. The whole 



ROUTINE IN LITERATURE. 55 

history of the freezing of the French language in the shallow 
reservoirs of the Academy, and the ridiculous incidents of the 
great schism between the romantic and classical schools, are 
illustrations sufficiently remarkable. Until within the last thirty 
years or so, people tried to write exactly in the style of the age 
of Louis XIV. A new school arose, but the mingled horror 
and admiration which its innovations excited confirms my 
opinion. These innovations were often trifling in themselves, 
consisting in the introduction of new metaphors, for example, 
not permitted in the dictionary. " Cela ne se dit pas " was 
considered, and is considered still, by many, sufficient to con- 
demn any phrase, however poetical. The natural tendency of 
the French mind is to shun innovation. It always seeks the 
yoke of rigid rules, and nothing offends it so much as the 
transgression of them. Everything is judged by academical 
precedent. I remember a curious instance in which good M. 
Coste, the commentator of Montaigne, justifies his author for 
using the expression " a tide of men," by quoting the authority 
of the Dictionary of the Academy. Voltaire has written some- 
where, that no metaphor is allowable that cannot be painted ; 
upon the strength of which dictum we are told, that to say " a 
torrent of emotions rushed over the heart " is improper, because 
it would make a ludicrous subject for a painting ! The tone 
of nearly all received criticism in France is of this calibre ; and 
when any innovation is made, it is only by means of the exer- 
tion of authority on the part of some popular writer who has 
acquired autocratic power in his art. The strange limitations 
so long imposed upon dramatic genius go still further to prove 
my thesis, as well as the uproar which the insignificant innova- 
tions made by Victor Hugo arid others produced. I cannot 
here develope this point more fully, and, indeed, it is unneces- 
sary, because every one acquainted with French literature and 
criticism will be able, on these slight suggestions, to remember 
innumerable instances in proof of the statement, that in the 



56 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

exercise of their imagination, or rather in the choice of their 
forms of literature, the French have exhibited an aversion to 
change, which might have degenerated into Chinese immobility 
had it not been for the constant impulse imparted by more ac- 
tive-minded neighbours. 

It may be objected, that if not in political matters, or in 
literature, the French are, indeed, fickle as individuals ; and I 
think that this charge has been brought against them ever 
since they have existed as a nation. It seems to me most un- 
founded. As far as I can understand it, it means that the 
French are inconstant in their affections, and especially in their 
friendships. I should rather be inclined to say, if I did not 
shrink from insulting so large a section of the human race, that, 
being incapable of affection or friendship, it is impossible that 
they should be changeful in this respect. But so sweeping an 
assertion would be absurd. I may venture, however, to main- 
tain that self-consciousness, self-admiration — egotism, in a word, 
enters so strongly into the formation of their character, that the 
French are less capable of identifying themselves, their feelings, 
and their interests, with others than many neighbouring nations, 
and that it is the absence of this power, allowing them to mul- 
tiply a number of weak relations, and to. drop a few here and a 
few there, as occasion requires, that has been mistaken, still 
for want of careful examination of causes, for fickleness. I 
must guard against its being supposed that I mean to envelope 
the whole of the French nation in this judgment. There have 
been in it remarkable instances of friendship and devotion, but 
they are sufficiently rare to do honour only to human nature, 
and cannot be taken into account in discussing the distinctive 
character of one division of it. " 

In another very important point the French have by no 
means exhibited any remarkable tendency to change : I mean, 
in religion. Whilst all the surrounding nations that have any 
pretensions to be civilised, have, for the last three hundred 



WARS OF CONSCIENCE M. MIG-NET. 57 

years, been torn to pieces, as it were, by conflicting sects, ever 
varying in doctrine, form, and aspect, France has remained, 
taken altogether, completely possessed by Catholicism ; in as 
far, at least, as it has retained any religion at all. The propor- 
tion of the reformed sects or churches to the population has 
remained wonderfully small for a people usually charged with 
a tendency to escape from the influence of old things and to 
run after novelty. It is true, that for many hundred years, the 
spirit of infidelity has been gradually spreading ; but on exam- 
ining carefully the progress of the nation we shall find, that if 
the phenomenon of a multiplicity of jarring sects could present 
itself for a time amongst them, the majority of the people would 
call out for silence and repose, as they did when the discussions 
of the Clubs in 1848 roused them for a time from their torpor. 
It is a curious instance of the impenetrability of the French 
mind, that, after all the teachings of history, even literary men 
cannot understand how it is possible for people to fight from 
religious motives, They admit, because such facts cannot be 
questioned, the great conflicts of the sixteenth century ; but 
they always seek for a political concealed under a religious 
impulse, and are obliged, therefore, to accuse a whole generation 
of the grossest hypocrisy. M. Mignet, one of the most elegant 
writers and purest public characters of France, is so little capa- 
ble of escaping from this mental routine, that, in narrating the 
history of the Reformation in Germany, he allows scarcely any 
force to the cravings of conscience, and can see no sources of 
action but rival ambitions and interests. This able man is a 
singular example, moreover, of the intellectual indolence preva- 
lent in France. He has undertaken to describe the secret 
workings of the German mind without knowing anything of 
the German language ; which is nearly as bad as the case of 
M. Adolphe Dumas, who writes clever five-act comedies to ex- 
pose the foibles of the English character, without ever having 
crossed the Channel or being able to read a word even in a 
4* 



58 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

newspaper. I have somewhere else mentioned the anecdote of 
the Frenchman who said to me, " We cannot allow strangers 
to impose their language upon us ; we aspire to impose our 
language upon them." > 

All nations that have been really remarkable for nobility of 
mind, for the love of novelty, the disposition to seek adventures 
even in politics, have made deliberative assemblies a necessity 
of their existence. What would an Athenian have been with- 
out his Agora ? what would an Englishman be without his 
Parliament ? The Session is our Day ; the Recess is our Night. 
In France, the experiment of public debates of business has 
been tried ; and ' most people have got tired of them. They 
formed too great a claim on their intellectual industry ; they 
too constantly presented them with new materials for thought ; 
every day some darling old prejudice was discussed and shaken. 
A vast number of people who fancied themselves civilised shouted 
out for silence, for repose ; and talked nonsense about " the 
feverish agitations of democracy." Before the coup d'etat, men 
of all parties went about complaining of the disturbance caused 
by the Bavards — '■the twaddlers of the National Assembly — 
not knowing that they were conspiring with the enemy of liberty, 
and, in their eagerness for quiet, forgetting that the only differ- 
ence between a citizen and a slave is that the former gives his 
leisure hours to politics and the latter to bovine somnolence. 

And this brings jne to notice another quality which is gene- 
rally attributed to the French : I mean, activity. Possibly the 
mistake arises from the fact that they are often seen gesticulat- 
ing ; and people have argued from the constant mobility of their 
arms, shoulders, and eyebrows. I believe, on the contrary, that 
the French are one of the least active nations on the face of the 
earth. Their stay-at-home qualities are notorious. Few French- 
men cross the frontier except on compulsion, and most think it 
a great feat to travel some fifty or sixty leagues. There is no 
people so subject to nostalgia as the French. This is one of the 



NOSTALGIA. 59 

reasons why exile is so terrible a punishment to them. " I have 
seen young soldiers," says Alibert, " who remained for hours 
watching the sky in the direction of their native country. With 
whatever delights a nostalgic patient is surrounded, nothing 
produces any effect upon him." To an Englishman, the whin- 
ing and puling of a Frenchman for his native country seems 
ridiculous. At any rate, though connected with amiable feel- 
ings, it is an evidence of feebleness of character. Pierre Dupont, 
in his song called " The Female Emigrant from France," pleasantly 
expresses the misery of a fine lady driven away from Paris by 
the events of February : — 

"Pardonnez, cliere Angleterre, 
Si je vous hais sans raison ; 
Ailleurs qu'a Paris la terre 
N'est pour moi qu'une prison. 
Je trouve la France infame, 
Je la cfeteste en mon ame ; 
Mais je veux revoir les nids 
Dont est brode Notre Dame, 
Qu'on me ram en e a Paris." 

This is partly the reason why the French form opinions so 
erroneous about foreign nations, and why I am inclined to scold 
my countrymen, who begin to misbehave as soon as they cross 
the Channel. They act like great boys who have just escaped 
from school, and the Frenchman looks at them with wonder, 
and puzzles himself to understand how a nation composed of 
such individuals can play a great figure in the world. There is 
nothing so disgusting to the French as the style of talk adopted 
by some English travellers, especially by women. " Qu'est ce 
quHl dit, cet homme ? " This is the way in which they express 
themselves in speaking of a porter, instead of " ce Monsieur? 
Even a Due de Montmorency would at least say " ce h;ave 
homme? The French are as irritated by our coarse forms of 
expression as was Mrs. Quickly at being called a woman. We 



60 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

are an enigma to them. Those who try to get at an explana- 
tion of our greatness invariably fly to our guineas. But how 
did we get our guineas ? Where did our prosperity come from ? 
There the boat leaves them. It is the old story of the elephant 
on the tortoise. They give the matter up in despair, and hate 
us because they cannot understand us. 

Innocent Englishmen often write to newspapers and to their 
friends, giving accounts of stammering conversations which they 
have had with Frenchmen, who have politely assured them that 
they may " sleep at home at ease," — that France has no inten- 
tion whatever of making a piratical attack upon us. It could 
not think of such a thing for the world ! All this is very absurd. 
These assurances mean nothing. There is at bottom, in the 
great majority of Frenchmen, a rooted dislike of the English* 
They sometimes conceal their feelings, from interested or other 
motives. I remember an amusing instance. When I went to 
see the Bay of Aboukir I was politely received by the French 
superintendent of the quarantine station, a bluff old sailor. He 
took me up to the top of his house to view the position of the 
French and English fleets during the battle, and described the 
whole affair with great animation. But when he came to the 
grand manoeuvre by which, according to him, the battle was 
won, he forgot the urbane cosmopolitan tone in which he had 
commenced, and went on to say as he drew a map of the battle 

on the terrace with a piece of charcoal, " Ces d ''Anglais — - 

I mean, those brave fellows of Englishmen." Nature had spoken 
out. He raised his head after an abortive attempt at swallow- 
ing his words, and said, " Apres tout, I can't be expected to 
sympathise with them ! " 

I have insisted in this chapter on the neglect of many Eng- 
lish persons to obtain accurate notions of the state of French 
society, because this neglect has very important consequences. 
It is the cause why we often misjudge the conduct of their po- 
litical parties, why we imagine them to be agitating for mere 



LIBERTY AND EQUALITY. 81 

chimeras, and why we blame them for not taking the same po- 
litical course with ourselves. It is a common remark, that the 
French care more for equality than liberty. The reason is, the 
profound impression created by the existence of privileged orders 
up to the end of last century. The great relief felt by their de- 
struction has, perhaps, exaggerated in the minds of the French 
the benefits of equality. It must not be supposed, however, 
that their present state of mind is entirely moulded by tradition, 
A little after the Revolution of February, an enthusiastic Le- 
gitimist, the Due de V- — — secretly believing, probably, that 
the time of his party would soon come, began to talk of the ab- 
surdity of supposing that he had not advanced as well as the 
rest of the world, that he and his fellows were, not prepared to 
accept the results of progress, &c. 

" Of course," observed a friend of mine, "it will be impossi- 
ble now to recall the legislation that declares all Frenchmen to 
be equal before the law ? " 

" Before the king" replied the Legitimist. 

The change of one word creates a chasm between the old 
world and the new. The king can raise or abase his subjects ; 
the law is inaccessible to partiality. In England there is no 
need of such distinctions, and we should, therefore, endeavour 
not to judge of French doings by the same principles as ours, 
A thousand other differences might be pointed out, and if these 
are not well understood, we shall continue to regard the most 
reasonable of French politicians as madcaps, and ignorantly de- 
prive the professors of our own ideas, under forms altered by 
circumstances, of the valuable assistance of our sympathies. 

What amusement was created in England by satire of a 
well-meaning but fantastical party for planting trees of liberty 
under the Republic ! These eccentricities were supposed to be 
peculiarly characteristic of democracy, and such members of 
our press as were opposed to that principle used to say, with a 
power of exaggeration that even Parisians might envy, that all 



62 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

business was suspended (although people ate and drank, and 
bought and sold, as usual), and the whole of the population 
employed itself in setting up poplar trees in the public places. 
This mode of celebrating a victory, however, is not peculiar to 
any party ; nor is it so absurd as our annual persecution of 
Guy Fawkes, or our City masquerade. It was principally the 
work, under the Republic, of idle boys and youths, with some 
unemployed workmen, to humour whom a few functionaries and 
priests joined in the sport. Very often the whole thing was set 
on foot by a wine-dealer, who wauted to attract customers. Af- 
ter the invasion of 1815, the Royalist party celebrated its tri- 
umph for several years under protection of foreign armies, in a 
precisely similar way, except that gigantic crosses were substi- 
tuted for poplars, and blasphemy replaced political enthusiasm. 
Missionaries were sent to every part of France to organise these 
demonstrations. They were received with pomp by the au- 
thorities of various cities ; the theatres were shut up in their 
honour; choirs of youths and girls were formed, of course care- 
fully divided into groups according to social rank, and taught 
to sing canticles to popular airs. The Canticle of the Confes- 
sional was appropriately adapted by some conscious priest to 
the tune of " Jeunes amants, cueillez des fleurs ; " and the Can- 
ticle of Religion was oddly set to the music of the revolutionary 
song, the " Chant du Depart." Even the words were taken, so 
that fanatical crowds Avent about roaring : 

"La religion nous appelle 

Sachons vaincre, sachons p6rir; 
Un chretien doit vivre pour elle, 

Poure elle un chretien doit mourir ! " 

A shop was opened at each place for the sale of crosses, 
chaplets, medals, books, and other objects, all converted into 
amulets by blessings ; and a Royalist journal announced that, 
at Avignon for example, " business was done to the extent of a 



COLOSSAL CRUCIFIX. 63 

hundred thousand francs." Catholics, without any irreverent 
intention; have a singular aptitude for speaking of the doings of 
their church in this trivial manner. 

The first task of the missionaries was to induce the popu- 
lation of the cities visited to make an amende honorable for the 
sin of having permitted the Revolution. Then came the plan- 
tation of the cross, sometimes forty or fifty feet in height, per- 
formed with elaborate ceremonies, in the presence of the au- 
thorities of the town and of the clergy. In one place (Cler- 
mont), twelve hundred men, nobles, chevaliers of the Order of 
St. Louis, tradesmen, cultivators, and workmen, in turn carried 
this gigantic symbol ; which, however, got into position, it is 
hinted, almost by a miracle. " The cross rose gently, and by 
movements so well contrived, that it placed itself, as of its own 
accord, on the pedestal, and sunk into the socket as by a natural 
and necessary inclination." Sobs and screams from the excited 
crowd accompanied the ceremony. 

" How amiable were the people that day ! " cries the pious 
narrator. The women, not being able to carry the cross, rushed 
upon the missionaries, and snatched from them their handker- 
chiefs and cravats, even took pieces of paper out of their pock- 
ets, to keep as relics. There was nothing so extravagant as 
all this in the plantation of the trees of liberty. Perhaps in 
neither case is there matter for ridicule. It is in the character 
of the French to make such external manifestations of their joy. 
I shall add, that in many places of the south of France I have 
seen these crosses still standing, with colossal representations of 
our Saviour, executed in an ignoble style, and shocking the eye 
by an elaborate representation of suffering humanity, without 
one trace of the divine character. The trees of liberty, which 
formed a pretty ornament, have already been cut down. 



CHAPTER VI 

Maticmal Enmities— Manners— Ignorance of the French about England — Popular 
Notions and Delusions— Our Eating and Drinking— No Vegetables in England — 
M. Yiardot's Misfortune— Shepherds — English "Women — M. Chateaubriand- 
Criticism — Our Literature — We have no good Writers— Mr. Macaulay — Reputa- 
tion, how made — The language of Birds — Curious Check to Population — Napo- 
leonic Ideas— Strike of Engineers — Feeling towards England — Our Mission — M. 
Toussenel — Thistlewood — Bethnal Green — Great Exhibition — Contempt — Tele- 
graphic Signals— French and Humanity— Why the French despise our Nation — 
Analysis of the Spirit of Mockery— Humiliation of France— Chamfort and De 
Tocqueville. 

I have already said that there is a feeling of enmity still exist- 
ing in the minds of the French against England, however much 
they may desire to deceive us and themselves into believing the 
contrary. Exceptions may be multiplied, but enmity, or rather 
dislike, is the rule ; and those gentlemen who rely not on the 
influence of policy, but on any romantic feeling of brotherly 
affection which has risen up in France for England, as a pro- 
tection against invasion when an opportunity occurs, will find 
themselves deplorably mistaken. I am sorry to be obliged to 
say this, but I am perfectly persuaded that the present Emperor 
could take no better means of acquiring popularity than to 
make a piratical attack upon England. Without seeking for 
the cause of the inimical feeling I allude to in historical remi- 
niscences, which have their weight, we may find sufficient ex- 
planation in the opposite character of our manners. People 
hate those who do the same thing in a different way. Man- 
ners are made up of a variety of little details and circumstan- 



IGNORANCE OF THE FRENCH. 65 

ces, which do not directly come from any great principle in our 
nature. They are generally the expression of our littleness. 

" One touch of nature makes the whole world kin." 

As we deviate from simplicity, we multiply points of dis- 
semblance. Savages all the w r orld over are alike ; but how 
vastly different is a civilized American from a civilized Ja- 
panese ! 

The ignorance of the French about England is of a differ- 
ent kind from that of the English about France. No French- 
man knows any thing about our history, our institutions, our 
language, our literature, our manners, our statistics, the produc- 
tions of our island, its geography, the races by which it is in- 
habited, or the position we hold in the world. "We loom upon 
them, as it were, through a fog. They imagine us to be at 
once very great and very absurd. According to the popular 
idea, London is England, and stands on the borders of the sea, 
or rather in the midst of the sea. It is a kind of smoky Venice. 
" Comment — il y a des champs en Angleterre ! " exclaimed a 
lady with astonishment, when she had passed the Nore, and 
saw fields on either hand. The way by which ideas enter into 
the minds of the great majority of men is singular. They 
generally bear little relation to the words or ideas that suggest 
them, and are the creation of prejudice or accident. The popu- 
lar ideas in France about England, and about France in relation 
to foreign countries, constitute a curious mixture of abstract 
ideas and general and particular facts, all occupying the same 
line and invested with the same importance. London is always 
wrapped in fogs ; there are no vegetables in England ; no fruits 
ripen ; English are all perfidious, and all sailors ; England is a 
nation of shopkeepers, a nation of Machiavels, a nation of inde- 
pendent gentlemen and originals ; France is admitted by every 
one to be the first country in the world ; all foreign women fall 
in love with Frenchmen at first sight ; the French, by their 



66 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

character, are eminently fitted to found colonies ; the French 
language is at once the most correct and the most masculine ; 
the French are eminently a musical people ; Napoleon was 
crushed by overwhelming numbers and three combined armies 
at Waterloo ; the battles of the Peninsula were all French vic- 
tories ; the French are the causes of the independence of Ame- 
rica, — a notion that runs through the whole of their literature. 
England has one great writer, perhaps, — namely, Shakespeare ; 
the English press is scurrilous, whilst that of France is urbane. 
These statements are not merely popular delusions, but are all" 
found in grave histories or scientific reports. I might collect 
thousands of instances from French books and newspapers, of 
ludicrous mistakes. A few, however, will suffice. It is, per- 
haps, nothing that a Frenchman never uses an English name, or 
quotes an English expression, without making some strange 
error, for this may be laid to that broad-shouldered class the 
printers, to whom I shall certainly attribute any mistakes of 
that sort that maybe found in these pages. That eloquent and 
ingenious writer, M. Mery, will scarcely plead this excuse for 
introducing a set of jolly companions, rejoicing over a pint of 
half -naff, and it is not probable that wiski is a trip of the com- 
positor. He must be answerable, too, for attributing queer . 
tastes to our low English thieves, whom he represents as first 
drinking gin and then absinthe. Our worthy neighbours enter- 
tain the oddest possible ideas of our propensities in the way of 
eating and drinking. We are supposed to spend one half of 
the day in swallowing tea, and the other half in gorging pota- 
toes. M. Audot, in his notes on the gardens of the south of 
Italy, goes out of his way to inform his readers that the Eng- 
lish are not only accustomed to eat radishes as a dessert, but 
even carry them about in their pockets to crunch on the public 
walks. As I have said, it is commonly believed that there are 
no vegetables or fruits in England, and encouragement to this 
notion is given by a scientific writer in the " Constitutional," 



M. MERY A SHEPHERD. (>1 

who, however, only says that our vegetables do not ripen as 
they ought to do. A short time before the article appeared, I 
had had a grave discussion with a lady on the subject, and in- 
dignantly asserted that the English soil did produce cabbages 
and cauliflowers. She kept a copy of the paper, and handing- 
it to me, as I went in, triumphantly exclaimed : " There ! did I 
not tell you that there were no vegetables in England ? " 

" Madame," replied I, with a seriousness worthy of a better 
cause, " if there are vegetables that do not properly ripen, that 
is a proof that there are vegetables," &c. 

A clever writer- named Viardot has recently given an ac- 
count of his sporting experiences in England, and tells us that 
a worthy country gentleman — a regular sportsman — took him 
out for a morning's shooting, and at midday gave him a cup 
of tea and a thin slice of bread and butter. "Not even an 
egg ! " he indignantly exclaims. I scarcely recognise in this 
the exuberant hospitality of my countrymen, and must think 
that M. Viardot wrote from his prejudices, not from his expe- 
rience. 

These are slight matters, but all matters are slight when 
isolated by analysis. Let us go on. " I have traversed England 
from end to end," says M. Mery, " and I never saw but one 
shepherd. He was a young man, well dressed and well gloved, 
reading the ' Morning Chronicle' under a tufted ash." The 
same writer has the impudence to describe England as the 
land of women of easy virtue — la terre des femmes faciles. I 
am well aware that there is a great fund of romantic feeling 
and ill-regulated enthusiasm in young English ladies, which 
sometimes leads them to go to lengths of familiarity with 
foreigners that they would never think of with their own coun- 
trymen ; but I am quite sure that M. Mery's remark is a boast 
intended to imply, what I doubt, that he has been in England, 
and that there he has had reason to boast of the kindnesses of 
the fair sex, which I deny. 



68 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

A curious chapter might be written on French criticisms 
on English literature. M. Chateaubriand, who translates " fast 
by the oracles of God" — "rapidement pres V oracle de Dieu" 
has some elegant speculations on the passage in which Hamlet 
speaks of Yorick in these words : "That I had kissed I know 
not how oft." He says that Hamlet here delicately alludes to 
Yorick as a female character, and maunders dismally about 
Margaret of Scotland and Allain Chartier. He cannot conceive 
the beauty of the plain, simple statement, that Hamlet, when a 
boy, used to kiss the merry gentleman who played with him 
and made him laugh. M. de Balzac, by the way, has the ad- 
vantage of me in one particular. I really do not know what 
he alludes to when, speaking of a dancer named Malaga, he 
says, " Her snout, as she called, the lower part of her face, had, 
according to the expression of Shakespeare, the verdure, the 
savour, of the muzzle of a heifer." Every day, however, the 
French take the names of our great writers in vain. Perhaps 
it will please Mr. Thackeray to know that a French critic de- 
scribes him as " an honest literary Cockney, who likes to relate 
things as they are," referring to the book on Ireland. There 
would be no end of this chapter, however, if I were to enume- 
rate all the odd things which the Frencrt are accustomed to say 
about our books and writers. To show their intimacy with 
our literary feats, it would be sufficient to mention that M. 
Stendhal informs his readers that it is absolutely impossible to 
write a merry page in English. I know where this idea comes 
from. Voltaire has said that our style is influenced by biblical 
reading, and his disciples therefore imagine that all our books 
are sermons. 

Generally speaking, it is the opinion amongst the enlight- 
ened in France, that, leaving out some brilliant exceptions, — 
say Shakespeare and Milton, — we possess no great masters of 
the pen ; no literature, in fact. M. Cousin has remarked some- 
where that there is no good English prose-writer. M. Philarete 



GREAT ENGLISH "WRITERS. 69 

Cbasles, exaggerating the merits of Hume's style, explains his 
perfection by observing that he wrote in English-French ; and 
critics who wish to be complimentary to Mr. Macaulay say, 
that he writes so well because he has a French mind — Vesprit 
frangais. We must not be surprised, therefore, if the public 
remains in utter ignorance that England possesses an unin- 
terrupted series of historians, philosophers, poets, and miscel- 
laneous writers, at least equal in number and in genius to what 
any country can bring forward. Our inferiority in reputation 
arises, perhaps, from the same cause that has produced our 
originality. Literary men in France not only unite in schools 
and coteries, but, in spite of individual rivalries, have almost 
always exhibited, as it were, a corporate spirit. They hold 
together and praise one another. Indeed, half the celebrities 
earned are factitious. Many names have remained in the 
public memory far inferior in value to our third-rate forgotten 
essayists ; and probably many isolated men of mark have been 
neglected. Perhaps a little more fellowship amongst us in 
England might be beneficial. 

I was turning over a clever series of essays the other day by 
a medical writer, when the following passage struck me as worth 
copying : — " It is interesting to observe," says M. iUibert, " that 
the languages of different nations are sometimes only an imita- 
tion of the cries of the animals that frequent the country in 
which they are spoken. My illustrious friend, Bernardin de 
Saint-Pierre, has himself made this observation. He remarks, 
for example, that the language of the English resembles the 
whistling of the hirds which inhabit the shores of their island ; 
he adds, that the Dutch imitate the croaking of the frogs with 
which their marshes abound ; that the Hottentot clucks like 
the ostrich ; and that the Patagonian reproduces the melancho- 
ly roaring of the sea." We have here two able writers uniting 
to repeat the remark which uncivilised nations make about dia- 
lects they do not understand. Every common Arab will describe 



70 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

Europeans as employing the Language of Birds. Vulgar and 
ignorant people in all countries think it droll that there should 
be anybody who speaks otherwise than themselves, but I believe 
that in French literature only will these odd prejudices be found 
repeated from ordinary conversation. 

It is, however, in political matters that the French make the 
most stupendous mis-statements, for here their prejudices come 
to the assistance of their want of information. M. Chateaubri- 
and has said, and I have heard his testimony quoted, that 
" England is under the melancholy necessity of shooting every 
year whole populations that are in want of bread ! " This odd 
trait in our manners puts us below those islanders of old who 
used to poison everybody who presumed to overpass the age 
of fifty years. They, at least, were impartial. Everybody was 
cut short as soon as he became incapable of work. We put 
people to death when they get hungry ! I am ashamed to be 
called an Englishman ! 

A good many of the ideas prevalent in France about Eng- 
land are derived from some of the petulant remarks of Napo- 
leon. " It is a singular thing," said that great man to Lord Am- 
herst, " that England has bought everything and is ruined" 
Very singular, indeed ! The authority acquired by the phrase, 
merely meant as an insult, "England is a nation of shopkeep- 
ers," is well known. "We may be perfectly sure that it lurks in 
the mind of every writer who undertakes to criticise our political 
institutions. 

The French are fond of speculating on the decline and fall 
of England, and every little sign which seems to indicate dan- 
ger to us they eagerly snatch up. Instances might be multi- 
plied to infinity. I shall here merely allude to the stupid delight 
exhibited by the Government papers when the news of the fa- 
mous strike of the railway engineers came over, a little while 
after the coup d'etat. Grave political economists at once began 
to explain that Socialism had invaded England, and that the 



STRANGE MISCONCEPTIONS. *71 

good ship was about to founder. On the same principle, any 
check received by the English in India is at once magnified into 
a great defeat, and gives occasion to all sorts of sinister predic- 
tions, in which joy is ill-concealed under a tone of commisera- 
tion. It is necessary, however, to qualify these remarks in some 
degree. Of late years the real Eepublican party — whose prin- 
ciples, after all, only correspond with those of our extreme Rad- 
icals — have formed a genuine affection and respect for England ; 
and I heard influential members of it indignantly exclaim, with 
superfluous sympathy, when a destructive invasion of England 
was talked of, that it would be an infamous act — high treason 
against civilisation. This is a cheerful sign, because the party 
to which I allude, though now in a decided minority, is evident- 
ly delegated by fate to take the guidance of France, probably 
at no distant period. It has committed stupendous errors, — 
the greatest of which was to lay itself open to ridicule, — but it 
may have learned by experience ; and it can at any rate boast 
of the absolute purity of its intentions and of the comparatively 
good private character of its leaders. 

Many of the Socialists, who are monarchical in their tenden- 
cies, and who look upon constitutions with contempt, hate us 
with the hatred of the Bonapartists whom we once destroyed — 
almost with that of the Legitimists whom we placed in power. A 
pleasant writer of the school of Fourier, which has, perhaps, done 
as much for Absolutism as the Jesuits, some few years ago pub- 
lished a book called " The Jews, Kings of the Epoch." Ac- 
cording to him, all revolutions and all heresies come from 
England — " the impure Babel, the great shop whence issue all 
venomous doctrines and all venomous drugs." He goes on to 
prove that the English are " the scourge of God," from the fact 
that God called up an enthusiastic virgin to drive them from 
France, as He had called up one before to drive out Attila ! He 
considers the struggle between the good and the evil principle in 
nature to be personified in the struggle between England and 



72 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

France. " I execrate the English aristocracy," he cries ; " not 
as a Frenchman, but as a Christian, as a man ; " and then he 
talks of Nankin and Copenhagen, of St. Jean d'Acre and Bar- 
celona. " The English aristocracy," he proceeds, getting mys- 
tical, " adorns itself with the only character of grandeur which 
agrees with its infernal policy, so admirably described by the 
author of ' Paradise Lost ' — an English poet." This pleasant 
gentleman has just published a delightful volume called " IVEs- 
prit des Betes,', and is himself well worthy of occupying a chap- 
ter in his own book. 

" Who has not heard of the conspiracy of Tilsewott ? " cries 
M. Sarrans, showing his familiarity with our domestic policy. 
Nothing shall persuade me that he wrote " Thistlewood," and 
that this comical error must be laid to the printer. 

When the French visit England, their first care is to hasten 
to Bethnal Green or Whitechapel, to gloat over the misery there 
to be found. In a sort of vague, dreamy form, the information 
collected by our Sanitary Commissioners has been carried over 
to France, where it causes the breasts of all true patriots to 
swell with delight, on the same principle that we might be 
pleased at finding that one of our enemies was afflicted with a 
cancer. The French keep their eyes so constantly fixed upon 
our cancers, that they fancy us to be all cancer. Even those 
who affect to be friendly are fond of dwelling on our failings, 
and when they praise, do it as awkwardly as if they were walk- 
ing in tight shoes. Any one. who has heard the wonderful 
stories of the visitors to the Great Exhibition will appreciate 
what I say. In every narrative they must have observed an 
under current of satire — an Addisonian tendency to depreciate. 
Make the necessary exceptions, and then be sure that the feel- 
ing of the French towards us is one of contempt. 

Now, contempt implies an assumption of superiority. He 
who expresses it must be satisfied with the relative excellence 
of his own position. I regret, therefore, that the French remain 



A DISTINCTION WITHOUT A DIFFERENCE. YS 

in this state of mind, because it is hostile to their own improve- 
ment. I have this very moment seen a curious illustration of 
what I say. A sea-captain writes to a paper complaining that 
French ships are not furnished with telegraphic signals, whilst 
our ships are. He hastens to make a curious distinction. " Let 
us not imitate the English," he says, " but let us take from 
them what is good." "Without this salvo, he knew that his sug- 
gestion would be derided. Vanity takes a peculiar form in the 
French. They not only look down upon others, but look up to 
themselves. French politeness, French wit, French genius, even 
French common-sense — these are their superlatives. I suspect, 
however, that the reason is that they do not trouble themselves 
to find objects of comparison. Their indolence raises round 
them a wall more impenetrable than the Chinese. Whatever 
be the cause, however, they resemble that curious people in 
self-adoration. No one can have read their political speculators 
without noticing that they invariably identify the French nation 
with humanity at large. Humanity was enslaved before '89 ; 
humanity rose and asserted its liberty ; humanity has been in 
an uncertain state ever since. After 1830, when France began 
its first serious attempt to learn the lesson of constitutional gov- 
ernment, it become the fashion to apply to ideas of personal lib- 
erty, liberty of conscience, trial by jury, freedom of the press, the 
name of French ideas ; and this continued up to the coup cPetat, 
when the Dictator, perfectly well versed in political history, sup- 
pressed them all, as of foreign importation. Most persons, pro- 
bably, believe that " humanity " fell into slavery in 1851. The 
general impression as to the universality of French history is 
so strong, that I could quote fifty instances from serious writers 
to the effect that parliamentary government has been tried once 
for all, and definitively found to be not only bad, but impossible. 
This strange temper of mind, which takes no account of the 
general experience of the world, and ignores the doings of con- 
temporaries, is quite sufficient to explain the contempt with 
5 



74 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

which the French regard all other nations. They have nothing 
to learn from them. It is only by accident that they admit 
their existence ; and they are always disposed to treat them as 
inferior beings. 

One of the remarkable parts of the French character is a 
spirit of mockery, and it will easily be imagined from what I 
have said that they are disposed to ridicule foreigners, even when 
they have no cause of ill-will against them. Moralists have en- 
deavoured to analyse this mocking spirit, without reference to 
any particular application. It appears agreed that it is not only 
an assumption of superiority, but in reality produces the effect 
of superiority on others. Men almost always cower before those 
who ridicule them, because they feel that it requires some cour- 
age and faith in one's self to use this weapon. This may ex- 
plain why so many heavier nations are disposed to admit impli- 
citly the superiority of the French. But mockery is, after all, 
a woman's rapier. It is the arm of the feeble against the strong, 
of the little against the great, and is particularly used by chil- 
dren, by humpbacks, by the lame, by the blind, and by all 
kinds of cripples, who are protected by their infirmities. Men 
of large stature and robust bodies are seldom satirical. It may 
also be remarked, that savages and peasants are remarkably 
contemptuous. M. Bonstetten, happening to be lodging at Mar- 
tigny in the Valais, observed some people assembled before the 
inn laughing and talking gaily, or rather communicating their 
sentiments by cries and gestures. These were members of what 
are called the Cretin race. The whole subject of their conver- 
sation was ridicule of those that were not Cretins. Abdallah 
of the Sea, on reaching the kingdom of fishes, was put into a 
cage and carried to the court to be shown to the king, because 
he had no tail, and naturally excited boisterous merriment. 

When French philosophical writers speak of their own 
countrymen, they invariably complain of the prevalence of the 
mocking spirit ; and one of them adds severely, that mockers 
are not only defective in physical but in mental development. 



CHARACTER OF THE FRENCH. ^5 

It cannot be denied, therefore, that these remarks are applicable. 
There is nothing so difficult to reform as one's character ; but 
it is not impossible. The defect which I notice arises princi- 
pally from ignorance. The French are capable of great ac- 
quirements. Let them enlarge their acquaintance with men 
and things. What appears ridiculous when not understood, be- 
comes admirable on better acquaintance. There could not be a 
more favourable opportunity afforded to a nation for self-ex- 
amination and improvement. France has now less reason than 
ever to boast of its superiority. It has been obliged to admit 
its want of the most vulgar talent that man possesses, that 
which enables him to take care of his own affairs. In these 
days, when the science of government has been brought almost 
to perfection, the French have been obliged deliberately to 
resort to the barbarous Asiatic system of the rule of one man. 
They should turn to profit their period of humiliation. 

The French, being fond of exaggeration, have written and 
said most bitter things of themselves. Their wit, Chamfort, 
used to exclaim at the Jacobin Club : " Let us take care. 
We are only Frenchmen, and we want to be Romans. The 
character of the French is compounded of the qualities of the 
monkey and the setter-dog. Droll and frisking like the monkey, 
he is malicious like it ; caressing and licking his master like 
the setter, when beaten and chained, he bounds with joy when 
let loose for the chase." M. de Tocqueville has slily maintained 
in his book on America, that the French have so great an affin- 
ity with the savage, that when brought in contact with wild 
tribes they degenerate towards them instead of elevating them. 
These judgments are rather satirical than solid, though they 
touch on real defects. The French have many of the virtues 
of a great nation. What they chiefly want is faith in them- 
selves and in others, longanimity to wait for the slow results of 
events, industry to study except for show, and that respect for 
some of the domestic virtues, without which legislation has no 
basis and life no haven. 



CHAPTEE VII. 

Arrival in France— June, 184S— The Constitution— Cavaignac— The Presidency— The 
Coup oVEtat — Why it took place — Travelling Englishmen — The French Upper 
Classes— Outside of French Manners— A Soiree— Eules thereof— Female Costume 
— Influence of the Empire — Napoleon III. at Compiegne — Symbolic Hats — The 
Noblesse — How to disperse Emeutes— Gentlemen of the Old School — Conversa- 
tion—Piety—Brilliant Talk— A Wit Analysed— Great Men of Society— A Fable- 
Fashionable Circles— Debility of the Old Governing Classes— The Cholera — A 
Countess— Definition of Society— Mission of Democracy — Terror of the Upper 
Classes — A Frightened Lady — Ignorance and Prejudices — Divine Institution of 
Eank — A New Aristocracy — Exaggeration of Political Economy — A Banker and 
his Wife— The Poor and the Eich. 

When I made up my mind to return from the East and lire in 
Paris, it was, as I have already hinted, without any intention 
of writing these volumes. The determining reason was curi- 
osity to see how the experiment of a Republic would succeed 
in Europe — a curiosity connected with legitimate hopes as to 
the fortunes of modern civilization. Unhappily, events advanced 
with a rapidity I had not foreseen. On reaching Marseilles, I 
found it in the midst of the struggle between displaced labour 
— blinded by ignorance and passion, and provoked by cold 
politicians, who had cringed to it three months before — and the 
organised powers of society. Whilst in quarantine we con- 
stantly heard the sounds of civil strife in the town or on the 
hills around. On the way northward, reports of insurrection 
preceded our arrival at every town. Paris was in a state of 
siege ; its windows were broken, its house-fronts lacerated by 
bullets. The population at large was sad and downcast, as if 



THE CONSTITUTION AND CAVAIGNAC. 11 

a great national crime had been committed. The Faubourg 
St. Germain danced. 

Then came the discussion of the Constitution. Pedantic 
reformers brought forward and voted systems which everybody 
but themselves knew to be inapplicable. Shutting their eyes 
to the peculiar circumstances of France, they annulled all their 
democratic institutions by creating a monarchical power, in- 
vested with the privilege of making war and peace, of disposing 
of the army, of choosing ministers, whilst a Pretender was 
preparing to come forward with all the ignorance and all the 
bad passions of the country — a mighty host — at his back. A 
virtuous politician — dripping with the blood of June — a Wash- 
ington hid by circumstances behind the mask of Sylla — capa- 
ble of doing what was right even with that terrible responsi- 
bility, which he had not sought, upon him — in vain endeavoured 
to hide the past behind the present, and to save France from 
falling prostrate before what was then supposed to be a mere 
name. The name carried the day; yet those who still loved 
freedom in spite of its errors, continued to hope against hope. 
For three years France lived from hand to mouth, wavering 
between the fear of usurpation or revolt. I was absent again 
for a short time, but attentively followed the development of 
events. Although I had begun to understand the deplorable 
incapacity of the French nation for politics — which showed it- 
self under a thousand forms of violence and weakness ; although 
I felt that Republicans, in all their schools and sects, were ad- 
mirably furnished with weapons of destruction, yet quite un- 
prepared with business-like schemes ; although I knew that the 
monarchical parties, partly from want of theories adapted to the 
times, partly from timidity and corruption, partly from their 
puerile defeats when they had power in their hands, were more 
capable of conspiring for others than themselves ; although it 
was quite evident that oaths were no longer sacred, and that a 
vast number of people considered that any form of slavery bril- 



78 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

liantly imposed was better than uncertainty and danger ; al- 
though, in November 1851, 1 saw that there no longer remained 
a living institution in France — nothing but coteries of conspira- 
tors, kept from action by fear of a power that was itself con- 
spiring with every element of success at hand ; — yet I admit 
that I was not prepared for what followed. I believed in the 
coming coup d'etat ; but I did not believe in its triumph, be- 
cause I was not aware of the extent to which France was de- 
moralized by fear and fatigue. 

When the great event, long waited for, happened, of course 
I shared the indignation of every man in whom the idea of 
right was not quite extinct ; and it was some time before I could 
divert my mind from one object — before I could get rid of the 
sentiment of horror which the bloody scenes enacted around 
me excited ; forget the roar of cannon, the cries of anguish ; 
and what was still more terrible and heart-rending, the sight of 
a whole population, that boasted to be the flower of the earth, 
the vanguard of civilization, slinking to its homes, pale, cowed, 
repentant of its best deeds, and trying to excuse its humiliation 
by sneering with lips still white with terror at everything that 
is great and good — at liberty, at honour, at truth, at science, at 
literature, at ideas, at all it had previously adored, save the pro- 
duction of beef and bread. The impressions left by such periods 
are not easily effaced. But time works wonders. I at length 
was enabled to collect my reminiscences of other epochs, and to 
compare them with what passed before my eyes. Every day, 
too, the tendency to satirise and vituperate diminished. I am 
now obliged to admit — whilst refusing to absolve crimes or for- 
give corruption — that the Empire succeeded to the Republic be- 
cause the French nation mistook its aspirations towards liberty 
for liberty itself ; and that Napoleon III. reigns by exactly the 
same right as other monarchs — by the tacit consent of a people 
adapted to his rule. Personal attacks upon him would 
now be childish. If he were an Antonine, he would not be 



THE TWO ARISTOCRACIES. 79 

where lie is ; and if the French people feel within themselves 
once more the sentiment of dignity and the love of freedom, he 
will be there no longer. At present he can only give way to 
some degrading Restoration. 

I could scarcely say less than this, believing as I do that to 
live under despotism is the greatest misfortune and shame that 
can befall a nation which has once been free. However, we 
must exaggerate nothing. The French, though obnoxious to 
severe judgment, are neither totally nor incurably corrupt ; and 
if I had space to enter into historical speculations, I could ac- 
cumulate thousands of extenuating circumstances. Many good 
men have been open to moral blame in the course of their 
lives, and many great nations have passed through periods of 
humiliation. In my studies of French character, though I have 
noticed numerous defects that may almost be called radical, va- 
rious facts have presented themselves that promise well for the 
future. The great reason of the misfortunes of the country is 
want of education, using that word in the widest sense. 

Most Englishmen who travel — at least those who influence 
public opinion at home — get their notions of what is going on 
in France from what they observe in the exclusive classes 
of society. They come over with letters of introduction to the 
Faubourg St. Germain, where they find the descendants of the 
old noblesse mixed with a certain proportion of the intelligence 
of the country. It is very difficult, however, to acquire a pro- 
per idea of living, thinking, acting, fighting, intriguing, money- 
making France in such circles, which in part represent the past, in 
part exhibit what may be called the official refinement of society. 
Some valuable notions, it is true, may be got even there. I was 
especially attentive to seek the reason why, in these latter times, 
not only the old families, but all the upper classes, the aristoc- 
racy of the cash-box as well as the aristocracy of blood, had 
entirely lost their hold on the country of which they seem to be 
the natural leaders, been deprived of all political influence, and 



80 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

set apart as it were in a sort of tolerated existence. Opportuni- 
ties such as they have possessed are not rendered null except by 
great corruption or great incapacity ; and I think most persons 
will agree with me, that if civilised France had done its duty, 
uncivilised France would never have transferred its allegiance to 
a stranger. M. le Due cle Broglie has well said, — " Napoleon 
reigns, because the lower classes will it and the upper classes de- 
serve it." 

Nothing can be more brilliant and fascinating than the out- 
side of French manners and the forms of French society. A 
stranger who divests himself of vulgar national prejudices, can- 
not fail to be struck with admiration. The first impression, in- 
deed, is that of high culture and great intellectual superiority. 
Escaping from hotel life, or from the serious atmosphere of the 
study, we enter with delight into circles where rules, brought to 
the highest perfection, and enforced by good taste and a gene- 
ral sense of propriety, keep everybody in his right place, and 
yet produce an appearance of perfect liberty and ease. Nothing 
of the kind can surpass a Parisian soiree. An hour or two 
after dinner, people begin to collect, or rather to drop in. The 
valet announces them at the door of the salon, and then all 
ceremony apparently ends. The new-comers go up and salute 
the mistress of the house, perhaps chat a moment or two with 
her, and then form or join groups here and there. If any 
topic be stirred that interests them, they remain an hour or so, 
and then depart without saluting either the host or hostess, un- 
less they happen to be near the door. A formal " good-night" 
might suggest to others the necessity of retiring. Sometimes a 
visitor remains only a few minutes. Very often there is an en- 
tire change of persons once or twice in the course of the even- 
ing. The conversation is seldom loud, and there is more plea- 
santry or chat than discussion. 

Ladies, instead of arranging themselves in a line, which it 
requires more than mortal courage to approach, take their 



INFLUENCE OF THE EMPIRE. 81 

places at various parts of the room, and are soon surrounded by 
acquaintances. On entering they make a salutation, half-bow, 
half-curtsey, to the mistress of the house, and always say adieu 
to her. If she be young, she rises to receive them, or perhaps 
waits for new-comers near the door. When they go she ac- 
companies them, sometimes even as far as the ante-chamber, 
where they put on their bonnets and shawls. 

It is curious to notice, by the way, the remarkable change 
in fashions and taste that has taken place since the es- 
tablishment of the Empire. I am not very learned on this 
point, but have observed that nearly all the exquisite simplicity 
which was the great characteristic of female dress in France has 
already disappeared. Gorgeous ornaments and vivid colours 
are the order of the day. I was once surprised to see a lady, 
always noted for the elegance of her costume, appear early in 

the evening at Madame 's soiree in a toilette very much 

resembling that of a savage queen. Her gown was of bright 
red ; her bracelets and necklace of coral beads larger than hazel- 
nuts; and her head was decorated with pieces of coral and 
feathers. Had she been less beautiful, she would have appeared 
ridiculous. The ladies say that they are compelled to this sac- 
rifice of taste by the adoption of brilliant uniforms, laden with 
gold and silver embroidery, by |the courtiers and all public 
functionaries. If they adhered to their old simplicity, they 
would be crushed, put out of sight completely. They have no 
desire to imitate birds, and concede the brightest plumage to the 
lordly sex. 

The change which I have noticed is curious, because French 
women have long struggled successfully against the national 
taste, which is all for show and gorgeousness ; as is evinced, 
says one of their writers, by the immense popularity of the dah- 
lia-flower. The Empire has not yet had much influence on 
male costume, except by the re-introduction of frock-coats with 
long skirts ; but it was once seriously contemplated to make an 
5* 



82 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

entire revolution in this respect, to suppress moustaches, and 
enforce tight breeches and a sort of top-boots. The Emperor, 
however, did not think it would be expedient, on reconsidera- 
tion, to make Paris picturesque in this fashion; and contents 
himself with setting a good example at Compiegne, where, with 
a true appreciation of elegance, he reverts sometimes to the 
costume of the last century, and shames his court into magnifi- 
cence by wearing fine frills and pendant wristbands of Malines 
lace. I am glad to see my opinions about the great influence 
of a coat on the man who wears it confirmed by so sagacious 
a moralist. The Turk who dresses like a European loses half 
his bigotry and courage ; and he who decks himself out in the 
costume of a degraded period is already sufficiently corrupt to 
be treated as a slave. If his Majesty, therefore, succeed in 
inducing his people to emulate the popinjays of the old courts 
in appearance, the Tuileries will at length be visited by a little 
tranquillity ; there will be a second thread to support the sword 
of Damocles. The only official notice that has yet been taken 
of the family arrangement called the Fusion — by which a num- 
ber of insignificant young men fancy they will modify the des- 
tinies of France — is an announcement that, on the grand recep- 
tion of New Years' Day, the ladies are to wear trains, according 
to the fashion of the old court ! This announcement was pub- 
lished in the "Moniteur" on the second of December — day of 
disgraceful memory ! It is worth while to remark that, on the 
same occasion, the last and most humiliating insult was offered 
to France by the Government organs, which gravely announced 
that there were not to be rejoicings to celebrate the anniversary 
of the coupcP&tat ! The glare of all the fireworks in creation 
could scarcely give a deeper glow to the cheeks of an honest 
Frenchman than this gracious condescension. 

I must not, however, so soon slip away from my soiree. It 
is the custom, even in the smallest, for every man to carry " his 
hat all in his hand " — a most uncomfortable practice, it is true, 



USE OF A HAT. 83 

but founded partly ou economy, partly on the desire to avoid 
appearing to have come with the dead determination to remain 
a long time. I know a man who maintains that the distinctive 
sign of a gentleman is, never to abandon his hat under any but 
the most pressing circumstances. He must never set it down 
on a chair or in a corner, unless he be required to dance ; and 
then he must put it upon the chair his partner has vacated, and 
reseize it when he hands her back. In taking tea, the hat 
must never be set down. I was once at a dinner-party, and 
obstinately kept hold of my weapon of gentility until the soup 
was on the table. My friend gave me an approving glance, and 
afterwards said that I had all the instincts of a gentleman. 

In elegant society there is always a sprinkling of old aristo- 
cratic names, a count or baron or two, and many redundant 
particles. I have observed the manners of this class with inter- 
est, because it seems probable that the next generation will 
only know of them by hearsay. Their forms of intercourse are 
full of amenity, too little characterised, perhaps, to be called 
graceful. They even affect almost clerical humility, especially 
in dealing with the upstarts of Fortune — the new-comers, who 
do not yet know how to hold their hats, and seem always ready 
to put them on their heads and go away. It is difficult some- 
times to tell the Aristocrat from the Jesuit in disguise. No 
doubt this arises in part from their education and their habitual 
intercourse with polished ecclesiastics, generally superior in 
knowledge and intellect; but it is evidence also of some dis- 
couragement, and not a little desire of conciliation. A French 
noble of the best school reminds me of an actor who remembers 
but cannot emulate his triumphs of fifty years ago, and feels that 
he is dependent at once on your kindness and your memory. 

By the side of this gentleness of manner and spirit, how- 
ever, there exists in many an infatuated belief in their superior- 
ity, which sometimes exhibits itself in denunciations and pro- 
phecies of evil, sometimes in unaccountable hopes for the future. 



84 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

The way in which they talk of passing events is most surprising 
to a stranger. I remember hearing a middle-aged marquis 
declare, in mincing accents, that revolutions succeeded because 
they were dealt with in too serious a manner. If his advice 
were taken, the upper classes would go into the streets with 
whips, and disperse the brawling crowds. At first I could scarce- 
ly believe my ears ; but when this strange speech received its 

proper development, I understood that M. de was thinking 

of *the period when the Muscadins and the Gardes du Corps 
did really good service to the cause of royalty, if not with 
whips, at any rate with cudgels. He depended a great deal on 
a blow struck by a gentilhomme. The " rascal rabble " would 
cower before it, though steel and gunpowder failed. He forgot, 
however, that even French valets, when their masters, from na- 
tural insolence or the effect of tradition, presume to use their 
hands, generally turn round, and show that Nature has not given 
them fists in vain. He forgot, too, that this system had been 
tried, without the assistance of any prestige of rank, by the Bo- 
napartists, under the Presidency ; and that in their case, as in 
the cases of which he was thinking, those who wielded " tough 
crabstick " were courageous and successful only because they 
had cannons and bayonets behind. I looked at him with com- 
passionate veneration, and more completely appreciated than I 
had ever done the causes of the revolution, aiid the absolute 
impossibility of re-edifying a Government that should have 
such men for supporters. 

Now and then, in society, it is still possible to meet with old 
gentlemen who preserve something of the courtly manners and 
pleasant, sparkling chat, of which we read in memoirs of past 
times. The champagne, however, has grown rather flat in 
bottle. They say themselves that the doctrines of equality have 
ruined their wit : which, according to them, was stimulated 
and exercised by the old forms of etiquette. People who all 
consider themselves on the same level have a coarse, straight- 



ARISTOCRATIC CONVERSATION. 85 

forward way of speaking, destitute of allusions, destitute of ver- 
bal disguises, in which the great charm of the old style of talk 
consisted. However, we must not admit too easily that the 
world has lost anything very excellent by this change in the 
forms of conversation. From the scraps that may still be heard, 
and, above all, from the accounts given by those who regret 
old times, I am disposed to think the contrary. We now use 
language to interchange ideas : the wits of the old regime 
sought merely to compress small criticisms on external things, 
and the artificial parts of manners into phrases rather playful 
than pointed. It was only by accident that they touched on 
the great themes of life, it being considered peculiarly ungen- 
teel to be in earnest. When serious matters were discussed, the 
tendency was always to divest them of their importance, and 
lower the pretensions of those who were mal-adroit enough to 
introduce them. All the great interests of humanity — all 
great ideas, and especially great virtues, were mercilessly 
pulled down, depreciated, stripped of their ornamental acces- 
sories, by the administration of infinitesimal doses of incredulity. 
Enthusiasm was considered ridiculous, and faith a sign of weak- 
ness. 

This incredulous society received a great check, and suffered 
by fire and sword. In the anguish of the persecution it had 
provoked, it to a certain extent changed its character, and took 
refuge in devotion. Many real instances of piety, which does 
not exclude violence and bigotry in defence of an order, have 
occurred in the ranks of the nobles who returned from abroad, 
came forth from their hiding-places, or threw off their imperial 
disguise. Indeed, the whole class, with few exceptions, has 
acquired an almost gloomily-religious spirit. It believes in 
weeping images, and other poetical miracles. Its character 
has been weakened, but purified of many stains. There are, 
of course, numerous cases of corruption; but on the whole, 
setting aside their strange virulence against low-born people 



86 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

who presume to meddle in government matters, their affected 
aspirations for massacre, which I do not think they would 
carry out, and forgetting also some other points, they are, 
on the whole, in their private capacity, rather an estimable 
body of men than otherwise. It may easily be conceived, 
however, that their conversation has lost much of its brilliancy. 
Their wit was fed by the vices and the intelligence they have 
lost. 

But, even now, the language of the salons is a thing apart ; 
and, as I have observed, the first impression produced on those 
who hear it is, that great felicity of expression is allied to sharp- 
ness of thought. I have often taken down the heads of conver- 
sations, and shall transcribe one which a lady whispered in my 
ear was extremely witty, or spirituel. It appeared to me* also 
very brilliant at the time, because of the vivacity with which 
it was carried on, but was reduced to nothing on paper. The 
topics were : " Some ladies improve, like wine, by time : they, 
in fact, never grow old. It must not be even said that they 
are ugly ; but if they are, so much the better. Beauty flies, 
but ugliness remains." On this theme, all sorts of amusing re- 
marks were made ; but I could not help being reminded of the 
laboured conflicts of wit, by which the jesters in our old come- 
dies fill up the intervals of action. Of course, to any one who 
did not examine what was said, in my cold-blooded way the 
whole dialogue, carried on in choice language, without confu- 
sion or hesitation, each speaking in turn, as if repeating a part, 
and all allowing one person to guide and direct, as it were, 
the manoeuvre, must have seemed a remarkable exercitation. 
I remember one trait that was rather applauded. It was men- 
tioned that a certain St. Simonian had preached on the eman- 
cipation of women at Cairo, in Egypt. " That is to say, in the 
desert," quoth some one. 

It is not uncommon to meet in society an elegant little old 
gentleman, who has gained a reputation in his small circle for 



A WIT ANALYSED. 87 

wit and learning on the strength of a few axioms, a few smart 
sayings, and a few celebrated friends. He descends from the 
ancient aristocracy, but has taken tints from the First Empire. 
I like to analyse him. In every circumstance of life, at all the 
turns and corners of conversation, he has a pretty phrase, an 
anecdote, a quotation, pat to the purpose ; and he has been so 
accustomed to speak with applause, that every arrowy sentence 
is feathered and gilded, as it were, by a witty smile and a jocu- 
lar twinkle of the eye. What he says is not humorous, and 
therefore he does not laugh ; but he sometimes emits an elegant 
chuckle, that never fails to produce the effect. I have heard 
him speak on politics. He had a peculiarly sarcastic way of 
taking his pinch of snuff as he pronounced Albion to be perfidi- 
ous, and explained how it emancipated its slaves for the plea- 
sure of ruining its neighbours. His philosophy is that of the 
eighteenth century, and his morality that of courts in all ages. 
When he blasphemes, it is always in a judicious way. He dis- 
approves of fanaticism, even in infidelity. Now and then he 
informs young people from the country that he has discovered 
an irrefutable argument against the immortality of the soul. 
He knows a Jew, who has told him that the Pentateuch, like 
the Iliad, is a collection of rhapsodies hastily put together ; from 
which it is evident that there is no such thing as a future state 
of existence. Moses furnishes him with an inexhaustible supply 
of jokes ; and he shows his courage by unsparing witticisms 
about a Person, an offence against whom, we are warned, can- 
not be forgiven. 

This pleasant old gentleman sometimes makes little qua- 
trains, of course sparkling with verbal wit, on people who invite 
him to dinner, and repeats them just at the nick of time as 
improvisations — which they may be in France, where the word 
improvisation is applied not only to eloquent written speeches, 
but to elaborate books. It is astonishing with how little wit 
the world is amused. I once had an opportunity of noticing in 



88 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

what way a reputation for cleverness may be gained if you fall 
in exactly with the prejudices of your auditory, especially if 
those prejudices are mean, and refer to their personal position. 
The feeling of surprise that something can be said for them 
intensifies the applause. An old gentleman of the class I am 
describing had long been in the habit of writing little fables to 
read in salons. He composed a work of this kind, and went 
out into the world to give currency to it. A chair was set in 
the middle of the room. Ladies and gentlemen sat or stood 
around. The author put on his gold spectacles, and produced 
a little bit of paper four inches square. I forget the words, but 
the idea developed was, that in a forest there were oaks and 
brushwood : from which it followed that aristocracy was a good 
thing. There was also an insult to M. Louis Blanc, who had 
just gone into exile. I was perfectly ashamed to hear the fren- 
zied applause which this trash excited amongst people, every 
one of whom, in another mood of mind, would have nevertheless 
declared it to be a damnable sin to deny that all men were de- 
scended from a single family — all brothers, with immortal souls 
of equal value. 

This topic of fashionable society, however, is too wide to be 
handled at present ; and, indeed, to describe the manners and 
opinions of the salons, taking this word in the widest sense, 
would be to describe what may be called the ultimate forms of 
French thought, the sublimated result of modern civilisation. 
To do this, however, it is necessary not merely to be present in 
person, but to have gone through in study all the gradations by 
which each individual or each type has come to form part of those 
circles, to know how their minds have been built up, what are 
their ways of life, what are the meanings of allusions, what the 
conventional values of words. In the course of these volumes I 
shall endeavour, without any hope of exhausting the subject, to 
transfer to my readers some of the results of my observations. 

I wish, if possible, to guard them against the danger to 



cause of France's calamity. 89 

which they must necessarily be exposed in the fascinating soci- 
ety to which their letters will introduce them. They are sure 
to be told that the cause of France's calamity is the ignorance, 
the wickedness, the avarice of the lower classes — in other words, 
Democracy and Socialism ; and the more sagacious will listen 
with eagerness, and add one to the stock of their arguments — 
against the increase of the suffrage for example. It is not good, 
however, to hear people plead their own cause in gilded salons, 
brilliantly lighted, with the smiles and glances of beautiful wo- 
men, ready to confirm what is said, because consent is forced, 
and there is no place for reason. The real explanation of what 
has happened was the irremediable debility of the heirs of the 
old noblesse ; the corruption, and venality, and want of political 
capacity, of the upper bourgeoisie ; and the general laxity of 
private and public morality in the middle classes. They were 
unfit to govern, and have been set aside ; but the people at 
large were also unfit from ignorance, and of course fell under 
despotism. This, eliminating all confusing details, is the plain 
statement of what has taken place in France ; and I think I 
shall be able to prove what I advance by cursory glances at the 
formation of the French mind, at the particularities of French 
character and manners, and at the theories in vogue in the most 
important positions in life. 

During the cholera of 1849, 1 made a morning call upon a 
lady who dwelt in a magnificent hotel in the Faubourg St. Ger- 
main. There were several ladies and gentlemen present, gently 
sitting in comfortable arm-chairs ; and the conversation naturally 
turned to the subject of the disease, which was striking with 
increasing force upon the proud and the humble. People spoke 
with low, measured voices, as they generally do in pestilence 
time, when the idea of moderation in all things has been sug- 
gested. Whilst we were talking a well-gloved domestic steal- 
thily opened the door, and, gliding on one side, announced 
Madame la Comtesse de . In hobbled a little old lady, 



90 PUKPLE TINTS OP PARIS. 

with a face that seemed to be marked with the footsteps of every 
bad passion — with small bleared eyes, vulture nose marvellously 
wrinkled, and a shapeless mouth wandering across the lower 
part of her face. An ignoble expression of terror disturbed her 
already hideous features. We looked at her in dismay, as if 
she had been the Genius of Cholera itself. " Mon Dieu /" she 
exclaimed, after inhaling some preservative from a good-sized 
bottle ; " this is very dreadful ! The pestilence is making pro- 
gress. [Somebody here took up his hat and went away, as if 
to see into the truth of this statement.] When the people only 
were attacked, it was all very well. On congevait gela. They 
were punished for their sins — for their ingratitude. But the 
matter is now becoming more serious. The disease is beginning 

to invade the ranks of Society. Monsieur le Marquis was 

carried off this morning : he made a beautiful death. M. l'Abbe 

paid him the last offices," <fcc. &c. 

There were many things to notice in this speech, which is a 
very accurate representation of the tone commonly adopted in 
certain circles ; but what principally struck me was the curious 
distinction drawn between the " people 1 ' and " society." I had 
been accustomed to use the latter word as synonymous with 
the whole associated body of human beings living in a particu- 
lar country, or in the world at large ; and to me, therefore, the 
cry raised at the Revolution of February, and too often repeated 
since, even in England, that " Society was in danger," seemed 
at once comical and malicious. I was now led to observe 
in what a variety of different senses the same word is used 
by different classes. Politicians seem to understand by 
Society a certain moral entity, totally irrespective of the in- 
dividuals that compose it — something like Mr. Gladstone's 
State — and amuse themselves by altering its form in their own 
minds, and making experiments on its conditions of existence. 
The public, less inclined to generalise, agrees with me in looking 
upon Society as the whole mass of the people living in certain 
relations one with the other ; and when they hear of its being 



MISSION OF DEMOCRACY. 91 

attacked, imagine that personal injury is threatened to its 
members ! 

Those, however, who have created the alarm, think, with 

Madame de , that Society means the fashionable circles, 

where birth and position exempt from the duty of work ; and 
being little versed in political economy, imagine that, if the 
theories of Democracy were really applied, opulent idleness 
would disappear. Although, therefore, we cannot but be dis- 
gusted by the state of mind evinced in the remarks I have above 
quoted, and must necessarily scourge the furious ignorance of 
the upper classes in France, which led to the cry of " Society in 
danger," and brought forth all the calumnies under which liberal 
parties of every degree are now overwhelmed ; yet, to be fair, 
we must admit that no calm speculator has as yet explained with 
clearness that Democracy does not promise or threaten to eradi- 
cate any vice from human nature ; that its mission is simply to 
destroy the artificial impediments to our development; and 
that, among other things, it cannot meddle even with the inor- 
dinate accumulation of wealth and the indulgence in luxury, 
provided it be distinctly proved that no institution is accomplice 
in producing this disease. Christianity has already said every- 
thing that can be said against riches ; and any regulation to the 
effect that there shall be no rich men, would be as absurd as to 
decree that there shall be no bad men. 

When I first began to study the aspects of society in France, 
after the Revolution of February, nothing struck me more than 
the constanst state of uneasiness and alarm in which lived the 
upper, the elegant classes. One of its manifestations was the 
wonderful facility which they displayed in inventing theories of 
spoliation and outrage against themselves. There is nothing so 
ingenious as fear ; it is even more ingenious than hatred, espe- 
cially when its concern is with the preservation of money. It 
then assumes the proportions of madness, and prepares for the 
commission of crime. 



92 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

I remember going to see the opening of the Legislative 
Assembly in 1849. A considerable crowd had collected without 
arms, and, to all appearance, quite peaceable in intention. Their 
object was to make a demonstration in favour of the vast num- 
ber of political prisoners who had been condemned without the 
forms of law, under the state of siege, in consequence of the 
rising in June, which every one then knew to have been in part 
instigated by the Bonapartist, and provoked by the Royalist 
factions. Their cry was, " Amnesty ! " Every now and then 
large bodies of dragoons charged down the streets to keep them 
clear, and were received with cheers. There was certainly a 
chance that some accident might produce a collision, and a little 
excitement was natural. At the thick of the affair I saw a lady, 
who had somehow gone astray and fallen into that turbulent 
scene, creep, in a stooping attitude, along the wall. It is impos- 
sible to describe the anguish and terror of her countenance, which 
was distorted into pallid ugliness. Every one at once saw that 
she belonged to the class which considers the people as ogres 
thirsting for aristocratic blood ; and though, strictly speaking, 
the poor woman was an object of pity, the contrast of her fear 
with the cheerful, though excited, faces around, was irresistible, 
and a tremendous laugh sent her scurrying along with increased 
circumstances of drollery. She was seen running until she 
turned the corner of the Rue de Poitiers. 

On reflection, it was evident to me — and hundreds of cor- 
roborations were afterwards added — that this good lady need 
not have been actuated by that stupid detestation of ill-dressed, 
dirty, working people, which has been too common since the era 
of revolutions began. Her fault was, most probably, ignorance ; 
the recollection of '93 may have been present to her mind ; and 
the enthusiastic mildness of the new Republic, which was rather 
operatic than business-like, had not cured her. Early impres- 
sions in slightly educated classes are ineffaceable. The old 
saying, that the French nobility, on their return from abroad, 



DIVINE INSTITUTION OF RANK. 93 

had learned nothing and forgotten nothing, remains still, to a 
certain extent, true. It is difficult to persuade persons brought 
up in the liberal and middle-class ideas of our age and country, 
that there ever existed beings who believed in a natural differ- 
ence between the members of the upper and the lower orders ; 
that is to say, in the divine institution of rank. This heresy, 
however, has not even now been dispelled by the spread of en- 
lightenment. The ancient barriers still exist in the miDds of many, 
who keep their faith in some degree to themselves, waiting for 
better times. I am afraid that this remark applies, to some ex- 
tent, even in England ; for a lady once told me, with tears of 
admiration in her eyes, an instance of " beautiful subordina- 
tion," which consisted in a peasant refusing to enter the Lord's 
house at the same time with a nobleman, because " they had 
been made of different orders." However, with us these fancies 
are harmless now. In France, they are not quite so ; for al- 
though the nobility have little chance of ever returning to 
their old position, yet the existence of their claims contributes, 
in a great measure, to keep up a feeling of hostility in the other 
classes, both to them and to the Church — confounded with 
Christianity — that supports them. 

There is another point of view, also, on which it is necessary 
to insist. The aristocratic feeling has been adopted, as it were, 
by the large and powerful class whose presence in the quarter 
of the Chaussee d'Antin throws the Faubourg St. Germain al- 
most entirely into the shade. The old Empire — even the Res- 
toration—but, above all, the reign of Louis Philippe, gave 
opportunities for the development of what is called the High 
Bourgeoisie, consisting of all the members of the middle classes 
who have made great fortunes and acquired leading positions in 
industry or finance. They are the real aristocracy of France at 
the present moment, and it is against their influence that the 
principal attacks of the Republican and Socialist parties have 
been directed. It must be admitted that their wealth has often 



94 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

been illegitimately acquired. The true reason of the hatred 
against them, however, is the strange eagerness they have al- 
ways exhibited to push one portion of the doctrines of political 
economy to their utmost extreme, not so much in practice as in 
theory. We can scarcely conceive in England the delight 
which men in exalted stations, necessarily the objects of envy, 
have taken in publicly, without any necessity, putting forward 
the harshest maxims which the purse has invented for its own 
protection : as, for example, that " No one has a right to assist- 
ance from the state," — " He who cannot find work must die," — 
"Charity encourages idleness," &c. &c. These ideas are, of 
course, strict deductions of Science ; but the French financial 
aristocracy forgot that there were other deductions, equally 
strict, by which they must be controlled. The absurdity of 
their antagonists was in supposing that they maintained those 
opinions from mere wickedness, whereas the real cause was that 
they were young in political economy, and thought it very 
effective to advance its most startling axioms. Besides, like all 
newly-enriched men, they were prone to make a god of their 
wealth, and insisted on exercising all the privileges of property 
in order to be quite certain of their position. 

Two very old people, a banker and his wife, were lolling in 
splendid arm-chairs in a palatial residence, and began to talk 
about the envy that devours the lower classes — envy of the 
rich, to wit. Nothing, they observed, can be more deplorable 
than the feeling of envy. To them it was quite incomprehen- 
sible. They were satisfied with the position in which Providence 
had placed them. They coveted nobody's good fortune ; did 
not feel a spark of that infernal passion ; looked, on the con- 
trary, without envy on the liberty and want of thougKt of the 
poor ; were perfectly content to accept their wealth with ail its 
cares ; and so on. All this was said in absolute good faith, un- 
softened by a single phrase of compassion ; and it was easy to 
understand how a class composed of such people might assist 
in provoking a revolution. 



POLITICAL. 95 

However, this is political. It is impossible to speak of the 
aspects of French manners at the present time without trench- 
ing, to a certain extent, on such grounds. Yet I confess that I 
am glad to escape, for the present, into other regions; and 
having premised that my object is to explain, in part, one of the 
most remarkable and puzzling events in history, I shall not 
think it necessary always to point out the exact bearing my 
statements have on present circumstances. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

Classes of a People— The Students — Intellectual Gipseydom — The University under 
the Empire — Anecdote of Napoleon's Nose — Political Influence of Students — How 
they become Eespectable — Aspirations for Luxury— The First Year— A Fair 
Companion— Young Bachelors — My Chest of Drawers— Alexis— Landlords and 
Eent— Eunning away — Philosophy of Non-payment — French Novels — Eeal Life 
—Influence of early Vagabondage— My Experiences. 

It is common to speak of the Parisian population as one homo- 
geneous mass, and I have seen attempts to characterise them in 
a single phrase. There are, of course, some points peculiar to 
all or most of the inhabitants of every great city, some habits 
of mind, some modes of considering life and working out its de- 
tails, some singularities of language, some virtues or vices of 
character. Members of the same family, of the same commu- 
nity, of the same regiment, learn particular ways *of walking, 
speaking, and thinking ; just as dog-fanciers acquire almost ca- 
nine features after long practice in their art. In describing the 
people of a capital, however, it is necessary to take them in 
classes, often to select individual t} T pes. At any rate it will be 
best for me to pursue this method, and, retracing the track of 
my experience, lead my readers into those scenes where my 
impressions have been gathered. 

There is one class that has specially interested me, that of 
the studerjts,--the young men who do not yet occupy any offi- 
cial position in society, but who are going through the appren- 
ticeship of the world, whilst they are supposed simply to be 
storing their minds with knowledge. They stand in near re- 



DELIGHTS OF VAGABONDAGE. 97 

lation with another class, which finds most of its recruits amongst 
them, and which romancers have designated as an Intellectual 
Gipseydom. It consists really of students, artists, and young 
geniuses, who, carried away by their imaginations, their pas- 
sions, or their indolence, have degenerated almost into vaga- 
bonds; who imagine they are on the way to distinction ; and 
who often, remaining from taste or habit in a position to which 
necessity or mere whim has brought them, end their days in a 
hospital, or drag on a miserable existence, studying ever, and 
never learning, until they become a burden to themselves and 
a pest to society. I do not include amongst them the men of 
real intellectual power, who afterwards burst into celebrity if 
they do not die at their post ; for genius is a sad, melancholy 
thing, that habitually shuns boisterous society, and has little in 
common with those jovial spirits that treat life as a comedy, 
and think themselves entitled to admiration because they brave- 
ly bear its discomforts and laugh at its responsibilities. 

Yet such a state of existence is not without charm, and 
when merely an episode, cannot but bear good fruits. We learn 
therein the small value of the artificial duties, the tyrannical 
exigencies of society ; how easy it is to live upon a crust of 
bread ; the exhaustless resources of what we call chance, be- 
cause we are ashamed to say Providence ; the riches of hope ; 
the delights of a single ray of sunshine. It is only when we 
wilfully remain in that wild condition, declining to exert our- 
selves to escape from it, that we begin to feel its demoralizing 
effects. The class to which I allude is, perhaps, principally 
composed of individuals who have savored the delights of vaga- 
bondage until they care not to claim a position in society. 

Paris had always been a great resort of students. Since the 
establishment of the University, however, its attraction had 
gone on increasing till lately. Even under the Empire observers 
began to notice the evil results of the system, in some respects 
praiseworthy and in many unavoidable, of congregating all ac- 
6 



98 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

tive and aspiring young men in the capital. The great com- 
plaint was that the students, being under no external control, 
and having not yet learned the art of self-control, rarely attended 
with assiduity to their lessons. A writer, who studied the law 
at that time, says that out of fifteen hundred young men who 
nominally followed the lectures, scarcely fifty studied seriously. 
The others gave themselves up to pleasure, or sought amuse- 
ment in miscellaneous reading. "What bond was there to 
keep us in ? " he exclaims. " We were our own guides ; we 
lodged where we chose ; we spent -the money of our parents as 
we pleased ; and we worked just when we felt inclined. There 
was no control. The students generally contented themselves 
with going to the school to answer to the calling over of the 
muster-roll, after which they disappeared. Very often there 
was a kind of mutual-assurance system in favour of the absent. 
Comrades adroitly simulated various voices, and thus filled up 
the vacancies. The professors were only half deceived, but shut 
their eyes. Sometimes students who had worked seriously pre- 
sented themselves to pass examinations for comrades who had 
scarcely opened a law-book. They obtained certificates under 
false names, and handed them over to their friends. These 
frauds were considered as good jokes." It appears that the 
system last alluded to is still pursued ; for I know a man who 
actually gained his living by appearing under various disguises, 
and with various names, to pass examinations. He was at 
length detected and put into prison : but being protected, they 
say, by the Jesuits, was discharged on the plea that the law 
had not foreseen the delinquency, and that there was no punish- 
ment attached. 

Under the Empire the students, who naturally abhorred the 
government of the sword, used to applaud the speech of Burrhus 
against Nero. This was considered a vigorous act of opposition. 
One day, a statue of Napoleon was installed with great solemni- 
ty in the midst of the amphitheatre of the Law School. M. Du- 



PUBLIC CONDUCT OF STUDENTS. 99 

pin, among others, in his doctor's robes, stood at the foot of the 
statue. Adulatory speeches were pronounced, but excited no 
applause. The students bitterly felt two things, — the stifling 
of the press, and the conscription. The sonorous phrases of the 
orators rolled over the heads of a silent crowd. Next day it was 
noticed that the statue of white marble had already an anti- 
quated appearance. The fact was, that somebody had knocked 
off his imperial majesty's nose. Great consternation fell upon 
the professors ; the event was magnified into a conspiracy ; stu- 
dents were arrested by hundreds and taken to the Ministry of 
Police. There they were interrogated with frightful severity. 
In vain did they protest their innocence. A student cried out, 
" Bring in the informer, that I may confound him ! " "Young 
man," said one of the examiners, " do you think you are before 
a court of justice ? Know that the police is above the law." 
No traitor, however, could be found ; and the prisoners were 
discharged." 

This anecdote, with what I have already said of the man- 
ners of the students of that time, paints their character at most 
periods. They have always been ill-regulated in life and trou- 
blesome to deal with; but from the circumstances of their 
position, their independence from family cares, the courage and 
generosity of their age, and the nature of their studies, they 
have always formed, as it were, the vanguard of public opinion, 
ready to risk their lives in opposition to arbitrary government, 
and sometimes to injure the liberal cause by untimely out- 
breaks. Whatever their faults, selfishness and compromise 
were not amongst them ; and it cannot be denied that on 
most occasions their conduct, when called upon to act politi- 
cally, has been heroic and praiseworthy. 

It would be a mistake to suppose, however, that because 
by instinct or conviction the students have often played a 
brilliant part in French history, their manners and character are 
not open to very severe criticism. They have some points of 



100 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

resemblance with German students, who are poetical, philoso- 
phical, and liberal, as long as they remain at the universities ; 
but immediately on leaving coagulate into fat citizens or evapo- 
rate in dreams. 

It has already been remarked with what facility the French 
youth, who have been the most ardent revolutionists, the pillars of 
secret societies, disciples of all extravagant doctrines, settle down 
into what they have been accustomed to describe contemp- 
tuously as " respectability." They feel, sometimes, the fury of 
the convert against those who are following in their footsteps ; 
but their enthusiasm, like their education, is generally super- 
ficial, and is worn as a costume without exerting much influ- 
ence on the mind. This is the reason why it so often hides 
itself under enormous bushes of hair, eccentric garments, and 
rough manners. Shave and wash many a student, and give 
him that amenity which interest so rapidly teaches, and you 
make of him the most inoffensive mortal possible. In other 
cases, a complete moral transformation is required ; for the 
contrast of ordinary existence with that spent in alternations of 
pleasure and study is the greatest that man is capable of bear- 
ing. Those who are not prepared for this change by lassitude, 
the bitter teachings of poverty, or unsatisfied desires of luxury, 
give up the career which their parents have chalked out for 
them, and permanently join the ranks of that class, the orna- 
ments of which are eccentric geniuses, the mass idlers, the rear- 
guard cosmopolites and criminals — men whom creditors and 
tax-gatherers never, but friends always find, uncounted by the 
census, unclassified by statistics, true Ishmaelites of civilisation. 

Most students, in Paris as elsewhere, begin with industry, 
and endeavour at once to master the weapons of the mind. But 
I think that in France they are more immediately than in other 
countries impelled by a desire of personal aggrandisement, and 
the hope of acquiring the means of luxury. Ambition is a 
characteristic of the French ; but they are less ambitious of dis- 



students' necessities. 101 

tinction for its own sake, than for the enjoyments it brings or 
imparts. Literature has divined the national taste, and caters 
to it by vivid descriptions of luxury and material enjoyment. 
The writers of the present day surpass themselves in descrip- 
tions of fine furniture, spacious hotels, delicious gardens, 
splendid balls, and physical beauty ; and thus stimulate the 
already excited imaginations of youth. As might be expected, 
however, these oriental pictures, instead of pricking them to 
exertion, relax their energies and disturb their dreams; and 
many a young student, who has panted over the magnificence 
of Fortunio, hastens to make a palace of a garret, and to per- 
suade some bright-eyed grisette to give laws to an empire with 
a three-legged chair for a throne and a linnet and a kitten, that 
fatten in spite of starvation, for only subjects. 

The students, though less exclusively than of yore, continue 
to inhabit in or about the Quartier Latin, in the neighbourhood 
of the Public Schools. As a class, they are totally different in 
matters from anything we know of in England. Many rapidly 
degenerate into mere men about town, and spend their time in 
entertainments and public balls ; others preserve a certain de- 
gree of refinement, study poetry instead of law and medicine, 
and become more learned in the female character than any- 
thing else ; whilst others really work, and thus incur the con- 
tempt of their comrades. The first year is generally spent by 
the most prosy, without mwch deviation from routine. After- 
wards there is a great change. The well-meaning student 
begins to be uneasy in his new mode of existence ; he misses 
the little attentions which he has been accustomed to receive in 
his family or at college ; the porter's wife is not always civil or 
obliging ; he finds his shirts without buttons, all his wardrobe 
in disorder : so that, in mere self-defence, without any fanciful 
dreams, he is obliged to call to his assistance some good soul 
who will consent to brave the opinions of the stricter part of 
society for a semblance of happiness and a promise of comfort. 



102 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

Before lie becomes the head of an unauthorised family, the 
student's great desideratum is society. In search of this, he gene- 
rally chooses some neighbouring coffee-house as his drawing-room, 
and easily falls into the habit of frequenting it every evening. 
Here he makes acquaintances that often materially influence 
his future career. This is his first introduction to the wild kind 
of life, one of the qualifications for admission into which is the 
theoretical or practical adoption of certain ideas, which I shall 
endeavour to develope. For the present, therefore, I shall not 
consider the student as a studying animal, but as a young 
bachelor, with limited means and unlimited desires, and endea- 
vour to show what colours his mind takes from his circum- 
stances. 

Once, when I had furniture of my own, a friend of mine, a 
young artist named Alexis, came to me evidently in a state of 
great perplexity. It was on the 7th of October, and I could 
give a shrewd guess as to what was the matter. However, I 
w r aited for him, as the French say. He pretended to be exces- 
sively merry, and smoked his pipe as he hummed the song of 
Beranger, — 

"Dans xm grenier qu'on est bien a vingt-ans;" 

but by degrees he brought the conversation round to that ac- 
cursed race, as he called them, the landlords. Students are 
looked upon by men of property with a suspicious eye ; but 
after all, they are known to have friends somewhere. Artists 
are without relations. JSTo one ever hears of their fathers or 
mothers, brothers or uncles. There is, therefore, a perpetual 
enmity between them and the owner of a house ; and, for that 
matter, the porter also. M. Joseph has often told me, with a 
contemptuous emphasis I cannot represent, that artists and 
working tailors are not to be trusted. Alexis was in difficulties 
for the tenth time since I had known him. The facts were 
simply these. On the 14th of the month of August, precisely 



MY CHEST OF DRAWERS. 103 

at a quarter to twelve, had been delivered to him in due form 
a written warning to quit the premises next quarter-day, under 
pretence that the rent of two previous quarters had not been 
paid. My hair began to stand on end, and my heart to harden. 
I also had my rent to pay. My face must have become very 
grave, for Alexis hastened to explain that partly by borrowing, 
partly by collecting monies due, he had been enabled to scrape 
together just sufficient to liberate himself. The present diffi- 
culty was this. He had found another lodging, into which he 
was to move next day ; but the porter of the house had sent 
him a written notice that the first article of furniture he must 
take in must be a chest of drawers, in order that there might be 
something to answer for the rent. As he came to this point of 
his doleful narrative, his eyes glanced towards a handsome old- 
fashioned piece of furniture which I had recently bought, and I 
knew its fate at once. He had come to borrow my chest of 
drawers. There was not time to follow the example of a friend 
of his, who had knocked up a commode of pasteboard for such 
occasions, which he used to take into a lodging with great ap- 
pearance of care, and whenever he was on the point of moving, 
carried away piecemeal under his arm. 

" Where there is nothing, the king loses his rights. You 
can't comb a devil who has no hair." These are the phrases in 
which an unfortunate student of the wild genus I am describ- 
ing, when pushed into a corner, expostulates with a creditor. 
Landlords endeavour not to be made victims of such proverbial 
philosophy. Unless very much in want of lodgers, they insist 
that enough furniture shall be brought in to answer for the rent 
of two quarters. The law is inexorable in their favour. It is 
impossible to remove property, except with the connivance 
of the porter, until the rent is paid ; and it is the most im- 
portant part of Cerberus's duty to see that you do not. If the 
slightest suspicion of poverty attach to you, your movements 
are watched with disagreeable perseverance : and though Ana- 



104 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

tole, living in an entresol, did manage to move through the 
windows, and Madame Pinson through a shop on the ground- 
floor of her house — -paying I know not what dues in passing, 
yet it is rare that such attempts are successful. Patrols are 
particularly inquisitive about carts seen in motion late at night. 

Although the law allows a landlord to retain furniture for 
rent, it cannot be sold for a year and a day. Lodgers may 
take away their bed and bedding; also their instruments of 
labour. Instances, however, in which this privilege is arbitra- 
rily denied, occur. Petty infringements of law are always pos- 
sible when possession and misery are at war. Alexis, who has 
been peculiarly unfortunate, had himself not long before been 
deprived even of his easels and his brushes, and was glad to get 
away in his best clothes. Such a loss was irreparable. 

I scarcely know a single young French student who has 
not been more than once in serious difficulties when quarter-day 
arrived. Probably the same is more or less the case all the 
world over ; but in France the situation is so common as to 
have given birth to a body of philosophy thereunto adapted. 
It is a received opinion among a large class of promising youths, 
who are fitting themselves for the highest offices of state, as 
well as for the liberal professions, that a demand for rent is an 
exaction which they are almost bound to evade if possible. Of 
course the necessities of life, and a certain instinct of probity, 
often make them run counter to their philosophy; but the 
most correct in practice are fond of bandying about dishonest 
jokes, and listen with delight to an account of a moving to " the 
sound of the wooden bell," as they express it. In England, a 
young gentleman would be ashamed to boast before half a 
dozen comrades that he had carried away the chief part of his 
furniture bit by bit, or shunted it all out of window on to 
the top of a cab, — partly from unwillingness to admit that he 
was ever in such straits, but chiefly because he could not be 
sure that the story would be received with an approving laugh. 



ASTONISHING CREDITORS. 105 

In many classes of French society, such a confession exalts him 
who makes it almost into a hero ; and the younger and less 
experienced applaud most uproariously, promising themselves 
to do likewise at the first opportunity. " Most men," say the 
Cynic Blount, "are dishonest, but few desire to appear so." 
Among these bright youths many do not care about seeming 
dishonest, if they are so with wit, and in a certain measure. 

When a student receives a sum of money he often repeats 
the old joke, that, having determined to be economical and avoid 
all unnecessary expense, he shall decline to pay his debts. Too 
often the pleasantry is carried into practice ; and when it is not 
so, these jovial fellows pretend that their only object in handing 
out money is to astonish their creditors. For landlords do not en- 
joy a monopoly in this respect. Tailors and other tradesmen 
innocent enough to give credit — (English fashionables will read 
this with astonishment and incredulity) — are put off to the last 
moment This is made a matter of principle, at least in con- 
versation ; and the salve applied to the debtor's conscience is, 
that the villains always charge double the reasonable price — a 
plain reason for paying them . nothing at all. It will be seen 
that I carefully distinguish principle from practice ; for in this, 
as in every other case, the French are not half so bad as they 
pretend to be. However, it is certain that either from necessity 
or choice, they put in practice their doctrines sufficiently often 
to have made them regarded with suspicion by landlords, por- 
ters, tradesmen, and other sordid beings, who require to be 
paid, and see no beauty in art and science sufficient to induce 
them to supply their merchandise gratuitously. We must take 
care, however, not to include in our judgment those few ardent 
workers who, sustained by hope and genius, conquer kingdoms 
of knowledge whilst they are unable to pay for a dinner, and 
who sometimes try to laugh off the bitter reflections of poverty, 
by scoffing at the rights and duties of this world, whilst secretly 
they subject themselves to sufferings approaching torture in the 
6* 



106 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

desperate struggle to meet their engagements. The students 
generally have fixed incomes, though small ; and when they are 
in difficulties, it is because pleasure or improvidence has ex- 
hausted their money. 

In the French novels that undertake to describe the man- 
ners of students in Pans, perhaps one-third is taken up with 
accounts of the stratagems by which landlords and other credi- 
tors are evaded ; and any joke of the same family, however 
stale, made use of on the stage, is sure to be received with a 
shout of laughter. There is a wide-spread sympathy in the 
public with non-payment. It must not be supposed, however ; 
that I wish to draw too rigid an inference from the tone of con- 
temporary literature. On the contrary, I hope to be able to 
show that it is impossible to acquire correct ideas of French 
manners from French novels and dramas, without personal ex- 
perience, or the assistance that I am endeavouring to give. I 
merely point out, in order to guard against denial, that the un- 
conscious admissions of native writers coincide with my own 
observations. 

The difference between real life and the life of the stage or 
of romance is this, that in the latter, when a young man has 
spent some years in a society whose code, often infringed, is al- 
most that of sharpers, he, as a rule, makes a marriage of pure 
love towards the end, and glows with all the virtue of an Aris- 
tides, not only paying his debts, but compensating whomsoever 
he may have wronged. This is not the natural course of things. 
The action of to-day is the germ of that of to-morrow ; and 
he who has once accustomed his mind to disregard the rules of 
right in the early time of life, rarely relpases into honesty as he 
grows old. 

These remarks, however, are too severe to be of general ap- 
plication in their fullest extent. Due deductions must be made ; 
but it is perfectly correct to say, that the flower of the French 
youth, — those who are destined to become the depositaries of 



THE YOUNG GENERATION. 107 

public opinion, and to occupy the bench, the bar, the ministries, 
all the liberal professions, all offices private and public, as well 
as most of those whose duty it is to cultivate the national taste 
and inculcate notions of morality, — begin life in a medium in 
which the delicacy of their sentiments of honour and of pro- 
bity is blunted, if not utterly destroyed. Somewhat similar ob- 
servations, it appears, have already been made ; for the author 
of one of the vividest pictures of a certain phase of student 
life has observed : " If the students were as perverted as they 
are represented to be, the destinies of France would be strange- 
ly compromised." Why, it was the sad spectacle of a nation 
struggling for perfection, and falling as it struggled into the 
mud, that induced me to demand an explanation from the facts 
of manners which I already knew ! The great events of his- 
tory prepared no one for what has happened. We can only ac- 
count for tha deplorable state of public morality in that unlucky 
country, by the admission that private morality has been neg- 
lected. How, indeed, is it possible, that among a people where 
every man of mark has passed a certain portion of his life in a 
state bordering on vagrancy, struggling with want created by 
extravagance, at war with creditors, obliged to resort to all the 
shifts of practised men about town, and experiencing, more- 
over, by anticipation, all the emotions and vicissitudes of married 
life without undertaking any of its duties, — how is it possible 
that in this school should be formed citizens of even average 
virtue ? There is danger, I know, of the retort that I am rea- 
soning in a circle ; for that the state of public morality influ- 
ences the conditions of education ; but letting the cause alone, 
it cannot be denied that such youths can only grow into such 
men. 

I have thought it necessary to say thus much of the prosy, 
matter-of-fact aspect of student life in Paris, before touching on 
its poetical features, because this is a point of view that is often 
neglected. If I wished merely to captivate my readers' atten- 



108 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

tion, I should at once, discarding all these impertinent moral 
reflections, plunge into a description of that wild and fascinating 
mode of existence in which youth, despatched to the capital, by 
painstaking parents, in pursuit of knowledge, find time to bask 
in the sunshine of pleasure, to savour the sweets of idleness, and 
to revel in liberty for which they ]jave not worked. Perhaps 
the moral ought to have been placed after the fable ; but I was 
afraid that when once I had entered upon those scenes and in- 
cidents amidst which I wilfully mixed, in the vain hope that I 
could move through them an unscathed observer, the delights 
of reminiscence coming over me like the south wind in summer, 
charged with associations of other lands and other times, might 
melt me into too great a leniency, and transmute a fair judg- 
ment into an apology. My pen hurries me forward, and will 
not stay to polish these sentences or fill up the deficiences of 
these reflections. Even now, though my experiences are near, 
comparatively, in time, they belong, as it were, to another order 
of things ; and I feel that no combination of circumstances can 
ever throw me, with the same sentiments, amidst similar scenes. 
Impressions of this kind dim for a time, when business or ambi- 
tion occupies the mind ; but I see that, at a more advanced 
period of life, they come back upon others as if they were actions 
of yesterday, but that then distance becomes a claim to indul 
gence, errors are recalled as amiable follies, and repentance 
acquires its bitterest tinge from regret. that such things are no 
longer possible to be done. 



CHAPTEE IX. 

Systematising— Boy Schools— Studies— Professors— Punishments— Precocious Colle- 
gians—Small Philosophers — A young Lovelace — Spoiled Children — Paul-Anguste 
— Parents and Children — Time of Schooling— Brothers and Sisters— Quiet Man- 
ners — Mode of Fighting— Diminished Pugnacity— Courage— Immorality — The 
University — Theory of Anarchy— Centralisation— A Promising Youth. 

Some writers, when they introduce an episode which they think 
particularly useful, but which they are afraid will seem rather 
dull, politely give the reader, who is in search only of amuse- 
ment, permission to skip. If there be any one amongst those 
whom I am addressing who has that vile habit, I cannot pre- 
vent him from following it ; but I at least hope that the ladies 
who have, and those who may have, to do with children and 
families, will go steadily on, partly because it is good for them 
to know what takes place in foreign countries, partly because 
they will not otherwise be able perfectly to understand what 
follows. I promise to be now as brief as possible, and to be 
almost as amusing as a story-book afterwards. 

There is no people so systematic as the French, a character- 
istic I am sometimes disposed to attribute to their want of pow- 
er of self-guidance. Nothing, according to them, is well done 
that is not done by rule. They talk freely of inspiration, of 
vivid impulses ; but take care never to trust to them. We 
must all remember the time when, in ardent pursuit of know- 
ledge, we have portioned out our days and hours for particular 
studies ; giving the morning to the classics, the afternoon to 
philosophy, Monday to history, Saturday to physics, and so on. 



110 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

Experience has taught us, that in this way we seem to go over 
a great deal of ground, and learn nothing after all. In most 
things, but especially their ideas of education, the French 
have not got beyond this period. 

The education of boys in Paris is carried on partly in the 
Government Colleges, partly in Institutions and in Pensions, two 
different kinds of boarding-schools. Until recently, the pro- 
gramme of studies was nearly the same in all, for reasons which 
I shall mention. At present I wish merely to give a general 
idea of the nature of the instruction which boys are thought fit 
to receive, and of the way in which they are prepared to enter 
either on the ordinary duties of life or into the more arduous 
regions of study. The word " collegian," in French, is com- 
monly used to describe a boy — or jeune homme, as they express 
it — say from ten upwards, who, having escaped from the pri- 
mary school, or from home tuition, is sent to receive his final 
polish before any especial career is chosen for him. I have had 
little experience of this kind of life, for, as far as France is con- 
cerned, my education was cut short soon after the first stage. 
From what I hear, there is no reason for regret. The French 
colleges, private and public, do not appear to be very successful 
in laying the foundations of knowledge. Without, for the 
present, appealing to the superficial acquaintance of the French 
with most things — for this might be corrected by subsequent 
study — it is sufficient- to say, that the multiplicity of matters 
which are forced on the attention of raw boys affords ample 
grounds for condemnation. The pupils are taught chiefly in 
classes by special lecturers, who successively direct their atten- 
tion to Greek and botany, Latin and chemistry, French, German, 
and English, ancient and modern history, natural history, math- 
ematics and rhetoric, cosmography and philosophy, the exact 
sciences, and light literature. Most institutions also undertake 
to teach drawing, dancing, and fencing. 

The French schools are generally organised on a more pre- 



LECTURES. Ill 

tentious plan than the English. A great deal is sacrificed to 
form and appearance. In a school -with fifty pupils there is, 
first, the master, then the prefect of studies, then the under- 
master, then the master of studies, vulgarly called the pion. 
The last-mentioned, corresponding to our usher, overlooks the 
boys in the morning, when they prepare their lessons, and hears 
the elementary classes. He is almost always the object of ha- 
tred and the subject of practical jokes. Besides these permanent 
members of the establishment, a special professor for most de- 
partments of knowledge is engaged to come at fixed hours. 

The system of teaching by means of lectures is inefficient, 
even with young men. Lectures are, in reality, only useful as 
stimulants. "With boys — I beg pardon, with collegians ; the 
French language contains no word for a boy — it is most absurd. 
For one whose attention is captivated, fifty are present in body 
but absent in spirit. An ingenuous young man, recently escaped 
from this bondage, has admitted to me, that the lessons at which 
he was present had left no trace whatever in his mind. The 
professor, or pedant, as he called him, seemed to be speaking for 
his own amusement, or for the instruction of a few willing pupils 
whose attention consoled him for the stupidity of the rest. To 
show a willingness to be taught is a kind of flattery — perhaps 
the most irresistible. We can scarcely, therefore, marvel if the 
clever boys are exceedingly favoured. There can be no position 
more dreadful in the world than that of a man who should con- 
scientiously endeavour simultaneously to lead fifty minds of dif- 
ferent calibres, fifty untamed boys, the majority of whom would 
be intractable even alone, into one avenue of thought. The 
consequence is, that most pupils go stolidly through their lec- 
tures for a certain number of years, and are sent back to their 
parents furnished with little more than the names of the various 
departments of study. 

It is probably known to most persons that corporal punish- 
ments, though, as a keen writer has remarked, in accordance 



112 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

with nature, which teaches us most things by physical pain, are 
entirely dispensed with in the colleges. This extreme is, per- 
haps, better than the system that so long disgraced our public 
schools ; but the effect has been bad. There are natures, and 
those not the worst, which are intractable at the outset. Cor- 
poral punishments were abolished at the Revolution, a revulsion 
of feeling being occasioned by the unsparing manner in which 
the brothers of the Christian Church, commonly called the 
Freres Ignorantins, used to wield the rod. Priests and their 
kin, probably on account of their contempt of the flesh, are gen- 
erally advocates for whipping and other kinds of disrespectful 
treatment of the human form divine. Even the sisters who 
direct girls' schools are peculiarly severe in their punishments. 
In the lay colleges, where insubordination must be checked, 
very strange means are sometimes adopted. I have myself seen 
a boy compelled, in the midst of summer, to kneel in a glaring 
court-yard for two hours looking up at the sun. 

Children, like men, are the slaves of names, and it is not to 
be expected that French boys should remain uninfluenced by 
the absurd circumstances under which they are brought up. 
One of the greatest evils a country has to struggle against is 
precocity, which in France is encouraged rather than suppressed. 
This is, perhaps, the reason why the few pupils who distinguish 
themselves at college are never heard of afterwards in the world, 
and why celebrities are recruited from the disgraced forms. The 
former are worn out before they are men. It is not uncommon 
to hear a lad of fourteen talk as if he had a great mission to 
accomplish in this life. Parents, especially mothers, encourage 
this pernicious development ; which, indeed, is favoured by the 
whole system, from its nomenclature to the costume adopted. 

Every collegian is dressed in a handsome uniform, consisting 
of an impudent-looking but elegantly-shaped cap, a military 
frock-coat, edged with red, confined by a varnished leather band, 
and trowsers with a red cord down the side. Long lines of 



YOUNG- PHILOSOPHERS. 113 

school-boys are often met with in the street, the hindmost mere 
children, the foremost tall, strapping fellows, who already begin 
to eye the grisettes as they pass. 

The influence of costume is incalculable. Dress a boy as a 
man, and he will at once change his own conception of himself. 
Formerly it was the fashion in France to rig out children as 
soldiers, and arm them with guns and swords. I remember 
seeing a mere babe in full National Guard's costume. This, 
however, is no longer the case; but, as a rule, all boys are 
dressed as much as possible like men. They are early taught, 
also, to ape manly manners, and succeed to the admiration of 
the ladies, who assist by the warmth of their praises in forcing 
the young plants into premature blossom. It has been remarked 
with wit and truth, that some of these small philosophers affect 
to class man among the mammalia, and to decide on the degree 
of his affinity with the bat. When they return to their father's 
house during the holidays, or at the end of their time, they have 
often already lost a part of the bloom of youth. " They decide 
magisterially on everything ; have opinions in morals and poli- 
tics ; judge of what is good and what is bad ; pronounce on the 
beauty of women, on the value of books, on the styles of actors ; 
dance with careless indifference ; boast of being already weary 
of the number of their successes ; and, to give a final touch to 
this ridiculous and horrid picture, they sometimes commit 
suicide." 

This is the exaggerated delineation of a rhetorician, but it 
may be partly justified from reality. Whilst I am writing this 
page I learn a story of female frailty. The young girl is very 
unhappy ; she has a prospect of being obliged to support two, 
when her labour even now scarcely enables her to support 
one ; but her " friend " has promised to assist her, and " do 
what is honourable," — as soon as he escapes from school and 
is established in an independent position as a student ! If we 
could know the future career of this scarce-breeched Lovelace, 
it might afford curious instruction. 



114 PURPLE TINTS OP PARIS. 

I have lately heard an anecdote of a mother to whom a 
schoolmaster — or professor — wrote, requesting her to withdraw 
her son from under his care, as it was absolutely impossible to 
teach him anything. She went about showing the letter, 
imagining that her darling boy had nothing more to learn. 
Let us respect the exaggeration of maternal affection without 
omitting to remark on its deplorable influence. There is no 
country in which there are so many spoiled children as in 
France — a circumstance which I attribute as much to indolence 
and vanity as to love. It would be dreadful to admit that the 
most exquisite sentiment in nature could produce the most 
pernicious results. What is more disagreeable than a spoiled 
child in a pinafore ! what more odious than one in a frock- 
coat ! Take, as an example, M. Paul-Auguste — we should 
simply say, Master Paul — the son of a Procureur Imperial. 
He is a handsome though pale-faced lad of fourteen, who has 
been taught to relate instances, that seem rather apocryphal, 
of his own wonderful cleverness when young, and who in the 
present advanced stage of his- existence knows how to enter a 
room more gracefully and with more assurance than many a 
grown-up dandy. Under ordinary circumstances, he seems 
full of complaisance and good-will. He never omits to present 
the friends of the house with a bouquet on the day of their 
fete ; for his mother has told him that he is sure to be remem- 
bered in his turn. Few ladies, at first sight fail to fall in love 
with him, and to wish, with rather indiscreet pleasantry, that 
he was a little older. I have seen him when opposed in his 
desires. He wanted to go to the theatre one evening, when 
his father and mother were to receive at dinner some distin- 
guished persons who were to have great influence on his for- 
tunes. Never shall I forget the wicked pallor of his counte- 
nance, the tyrannical mimicry of manhood he first adopted, and 
then the savage blubber that ensued when the opposition was 
too strong and nature got the upper-hand. I believe the little 



PRECOCITY. 115 

wretch swore. The worst of the matter was, that at sight of 
the first tear his mother relented, clasped him in her arms, and 
scolded the father for his tyranny ! I could not help murmur- 
ing something about a rgd, which gained me a glance over the 
maternal shoulder that would have made me start if it had 
come from a more formidable person. The upshot of the mat- 
ter was, that after an hour's discussion the young gentleman 
was sent to the theatre by himself ; and his parents pretended 
that he was ill in bed, which necessitated a long series of hypoc- 
risies. 

Parents are generally satisfied to hear the enumeration of 
what their children have learned at school. They are more 
exacting as to their behaviour, every point of which is criticised 
with attention. Elegance and self-possession are deemed to be 
indispensable qualities. Many a mother's heart is smitten with 
grief if her son is returned to her with the ingenuous awkwardness 
of his age. Most schoolmasters curry to this perverted taste, 
and endeavour to polish their pupils into little petits-maitres. 
But, says a man of great experience, a lad who begins to comb 
his hair with affectation, and to take care of his cravat, is be- 
coming a bad scholar ; his morals, if not already corrupted, 
are on the eve of corruption. A Bishop of the Gallican Church 
has published a volume on education, which would be excellent 
if it were not written in a corporate interest. As an instance of 
the way in which parents assist the schoolmaster, he tells the 
story of a loving father, who, in order to persuade a boy to 
make progress with his catechism, promised him the present of 
a horse. This, however, is the system adopted at the hint of 
nature. In families, in schools, and in the world, pleasure is 
the reward of learning. A more philosophical anecdote is that 
of a young mother who, speaking of the education of her chil- 
dren, was saying, " I have twenty years of suffering before 
me :" when another matron, more experienced, interposed with 
the observation, " Your chief suffering will begin twenty years 



116 PURPLE TINTS OP PARIS. 

hence." She might have added, that at that time the harvest 
of the seed sown by false indulgence or mere carelessness is 
reaped. 

The time during which boys are kept at the colleges varies, 
of course, according to individual aptitude and other circum- 
stances. Education is much cheaper in France than in Eng- 
land ; and parents of middling fortunes are, consequently, not 
in so great a hurry to withdraw their children from school as 
they would otherwise be. This remark applies principally to 
Paris. In the provinces, as in all semi-barbarous countries, 
every sou spent in instruction beyond the obvious mechanical 
acquirements is considered by the majority to be thrown away. 
Deplorable, therefore, is the state of knowledge away from the 
centre. Careful parents, however, in the provinces as in the 
capital, keep their children some six or eight years at college. 
Holidays are rare and short — an excellent feature in one re- 
spect, but injurious in its general results. The family feeling 
wears out in absence ; and he who was sent forth a pet child, 
returns a stranger. Friendships between brothers and sisters are 
rarely heard of, at any rate in Paris ; for elsewhere, this remark 
often ceases to be applicable. In genteel ranks a young lady 
says, Monsieur monfrere, and the youth takes off his hat to 

her, and compliments her on her good looks. " M. de is 

about to marry my sister Aurelie, I am told," said a friend of 
mine ; " I shall be happy to make his acquaintance." The ridi- 
culous pair of whiskers that asks you about your " intentions " 
is unknown in France, where timid youth is frightened into 
matches less easily. This is good ; but in England we do not 
know the species of being that, on hearing of its married sister's 
intrigues with So-and-So, shrugs its shoulders saying, " It is no 
affair of mine," and is quite ready to take a Manilla from Mr. 
So-and-So's cigar-case. 

This would be an unpardonable digression in talking of Eng- 
lish school education. It is scarcely so in this case. The great 



BOXING AND THE SAVATE. 117 

object of the French system is to suppress from life that dis- 
agreeable but useful period which we call boyhood — to gloss 
over at any rate, and hide from view, all the symptoms of men- 
tal and bodily growth. French lads consequently, except when 
spoiled by maternal care, are much more quiet and elegant in 
behaviour than English lads. At first, indeed, there seems 
something effeminately gentle in their manners. They rarely 
fight ; but if they do, it is by kicking, scratching, biting, and 
hair-tugging, like girls, not with the fists. It is a standing joke 
in Paris, that we Britons know no other amusement but boxing. 
A little time ago, this might have provoked a retort on the pre- 
valence of what is called the " savate," which consists in an ig- 
noble struggle in which two men, using all the weapons that 
nature has afforded them — hands, feet, nails, and teeth — en- 
deavour to disable one another, and in which the victor, when 
his mutilated antagonist lies upon the ground, kicks him in the 
face as a proof of his triumph. This disgusting mode of fight- 
ing is going out, as are our boxing-matches, but is still resorted 
to by the very lower classes to decide their quarrels. 

Some Frenchmen have objected to this observation, that the 
savate was the strategy of chiffonniers and thieves ; whilst they 
have heard that boxing is considered a gentlemanly practice in 
England. But in fact, although none but mere blackguards — 
and dandies who ape their manners — have made a science of 
this mode of fighting, yet it is only the perfection of that 
adopted by any two Frenchmen whom chance brings into per- 
sonal collision without weapons. In all the schools, too, in 
which I have been, the boys, when they fought, did so some- 
thing in this way ; and I shall always remember an English lad, 
who, wanting to fight a chap twice his size, was disabled at 
once by a frightful kick, which might have injured him for life. 
These are slight matters ; but perhaps in a multiplicity of such 
observations we shall find safer materials for judging of French 
character than by noticing their collective conduct as a nation. 



118* PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

An observer, foiywkose sagacity I have the highest respect, 
has pointed out to me, that of late years the pugnacious spirit 
that used sometimes to collect crowds in the streets has so di- 
minished as almost entirely to have disappeared. He attributes 
this result in a great measure to the influence of Louis Philippe's 
government, which certainly tended to develope effeminate sen- 
timents. " When I was young," he says, " I rarely went out 
without getting into a scrape of some kind. I was always 
showing fight, either in resentment for an insult or in defence 
of oppressed weakness. Now I never see anything of the kind. 
Look at my son. He is a tall, strong fellow, as I was. Yet 
who ever saw him with a black eye, or with a skirt of his coat 
torn off ? He is as mild as a girl. All this is, of course, very 
proper. I don't wish him to fight in the street ; I don't want 
to have new coats to buy for him ; and yet — this is a sign of 
something. It means more than that my boy is of a pacific 
disposition. What I observe is observed by every one. Who 
sees any fighting in the street now ? Are we to be proud or not 
of this excessive softening of manners ? Was not the pugna- 
cious spirit associated, at any rate, with some virtues which we 
have scarcely been careful enough to preserve— happy that we 
were to get rid of certain roughnesses that shocked our eyes ? 
The new generation is a total contrast to the old one. Every- 
body seeks ' to save his skin,' as the people say. There is no 
belief in anything but material facts. I tell you that my boy 
is more sceptical and prudent than I am ; and instead of my 
having to check his enthusiasm, it is he that preaches modera- 
tion to me." I am disposed to think that the criticism 
hinted in these words is well founded. The speaker had no 
direct intention of satirising his countrymen ; but the fact is, 
that the present generation of Frenchmen, despite the talk we 
hear of their bloody propensities, are, as a rule, quite feminine 
in their aversion to strife — quite Sybaritic in their tendency. 
They have fought, it is true ; but I remember seeing a milk- 



FRENCH BOYS AND FRENCH MEN. 119 

arid-water lad, who had never left his mother's apron strings 
after submitting to insult unbearable to common boys, suddenly 
turn at some. petty gibe and put to flight five or six sturdy fel- 
lows, quite taken by surprise. A revolted Frenchman of the 
new school reminds me of this lad. 

The great politician who now wields the destinies of France 
perfectly understood with what kind of people he had to deal. 
He had observed — and there is no keener observer of the de- 
fects in policy and human nature — that former Governments had 
possessed the secret of exasperating the effeminate populace just 
up to the resisting point ; and had then, as ft were,- thrown down 
their arms, terrified by the storm they had raised. He was pre- 
pared to resist the first convulsive movement — which resembled 
the hysterical fit of a woman ; but he must have been himself 
surprised at the rapidity with which the whole country, covered 
with turbulent waves at the outset, sank suddenly into a dead 
calm, and shone smilingly in the sun of despotism. France felt, 
that to preserve its liberty, it must peril its comfort — and pre- 
ferred its comfort to its liberty ; just as if an elegant dandy were 
to give up his purse to a dirty navigator, for fear of having his 
shirt-front disturbed in a struggle. 

This is not the only point in which French boys are fathers 
of French men. I am here obliged to be sparing in illustration 
as well as in remark. It is necessary, however, to allude to the 
artificial precocity produced by the circumstances in which a 
boy is placed, by the tone of what society he sees, by the hints 
contained in current language, and, above all, by the traditions 
that are handed down, with more than ecclesiastical precision, 
from one generation of fourteen to another. If my hints be 
charged with exaggeration, and my personal observations be 
appealed from, contemporary literature will supply me with thou- 
sands of illustrations of what I mean — -partly from the mouths 
of those who condemn, partly of those who boast directly or 
implicitly. I do not, however, anticipate denial, and may 



120 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

boldly say, that if there is any thing that can be called boy- 
hood in France it ceases so soon after infancy as not to be worth 
mentioning. 

To discuss this subject of the education of boys at greater 
length would compel me to raise questions that would give too 
special a character to these volumes. The general deductions 
from what I have said are, that both the public and the private 
colleges undertake to teach their pupils too -much, that they 
succeed only in impressing on the memory a few vague gene- 
ralities, that they do not exercise the faculties of the mind, but 
that they actively develope the vanity of the individual, and 
allow the development of those passions and desires to divert 
the attention of the young from which is, perhaps, the chief 
utility of school education. 

To the great debate, as to whether it is proper to encourage 
the study of the classics, I shall but slightly refer. Without a 
knowledge of Latin, and even of Greek, the French could not 
understand their own language. It is a dispute between the 
Church and the University, two institutions that perpetually 
struggle for the honour of corrupting the French mind. Be- 
hind them are two parties, each furiously attached to its own 
opinions — each profoundly believing the same absurdity; 
namely, that the human mind is raw material, ready to be 
worked up into any shape by a pious or philosophical State. 
Neither party cares for the great historical lesson, that every 
r6gime pretending to monopoly, has been overthrown by the 
weapons it has itself distributed ; and that no government, ex- 
cept in merely barbarous times, which has said, " I will make 
the people think thus and thus," has failed to make them think 
precisely the reverse. The University, in the plenitude of its 
power, tried the experiment, and endeavoured to inoculate the 
nation with its ideas of Deism, based on arguments that lead to 
Materialism, and oddly combined with a certain amount of 
moderate Liberalism in politics. It had many generations of 



UNIVERSITY. 121 

youth in its hands, but it succeeded only in preparing the ma- 
terials of a reaction against itself. From the ranks of its most 
assiduous pupils rose all kinds of wild and spiritual theorists, 
who easily gathered disciples around them, and who laughed at 
the cold, narrow, barren reasonings of their masters. Those 
who followed the paths pointed out to them refused to stop, 
and soon found themselves wallowing in the sublime nonsense 
of Pantheism. From all sides arose a cry that the University 
must be reformed, at any rate in spirit. The Church took ad- 
vantage of the opportunity, and hung out the flag of liberty, 
promising to free the country from the influence of doctrines 
the effect of which was to empty the mind of everything that 
likens it to the Divinity. At present the Church has pretty 
nearly got the upper hand, and is preparing a still more violent 
reaction ; for the University, though it destroyed, or tried to 
destroy, all faith, at any rate endeavoured to give the people a 
habit of thought ; whilst the object of the Church is to paralyse 
that faculty from which the very definition of man is drawn. 

There is no nation impressed so strongly as the French 
with the necessity of paying learned bodies to think for them. 
Their Academies and their University have the same origin, — 
intellectual indolence, and the necessity of government in things 
mental as well as things material. Some few French philoso- 
phers have at length perceived that the pretensions of one 
man, or body of men, to guide the actions of the world without 
appealing to its reason, are both unjust and absurd, and have 
laid it down as a principle, fancying themselves second New- 
tons for the discovery, that there should be no government at 
all. This theory, which seems so simple to us, because, though 
we do not express it in words, we apply it every day, these 
gentlemen have innocently chosen to call the Theory of An- 
archy, fancying that people look into dictionaries for the mean- 
ing of words. It was immediately believed and said, that the? 
7 



122 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

recommended the world to be in a perpetual state of breaking 
windows and pelting the police. The big-wigs who governed 
France perfectly understood what was meant, but of course 
raised their hands in horror, and wrote little pamphlets to con- 
found these naughty speculators. And yet, if the philosophers 
had known how to express themselves — if they had not for- 
gotten that they were speaking to a public, full of foolish pre- 
judices it is true, but also of not illegitimate fears — they might 
have led the mind of France to make that 'one step in advance 
which only it requires to enable it to become political and 
achieve liberty. 

It is, perhaps, to be hoped .with reason, that some day 
French politicians will learn, that as there are different charac- 
ters, different degrees of intelligence, different mental tendencies, 
different aptitudes, so there must be different systems of educa- 
tion — different in form and substance, each at liberty to rally 
its own disciples ; for like will always assimilate to like. The 
unity which the French pursue so eagerly, as if it were the one 
thing needful, is much more likely to be reached approximately 
by the spontaneous results of uncontrolled study than by any 
violent means. Pressure scatters and does not amalgamate 
minds. To believe this, however, it is necessary to believe that 
there is such a thing as truth ; and most Frenchmen, however 
fervid they may seem, are Jesting Pilates in this particular. 
" Bring me word of a little truth," cries a witty writer, " which 
will just suppress at the same time the hero, the hangman, and 
the spy ; and I will proclaim the bearer of this news greater 
than Newton, Kepler and Copernicus put together." France 
will have to wait long for a Messiah of this kind. An illustra- 
tion will bring us back into the special domain of this chapter. 
I once heard a boy of sixteen say, " I believe nothing, because 
there is nothing to believe." " What are you saying there ? " 
inquired his father, laying down his spectacles as if preparing 



A PROMISING YOUTH. 123 

for a discussion. " Oh," quoth the youth, turning carelessly 
away, "I shan't discuss the point, because you are aii encroute" 
— a positive old fogie, he meant. 

" H rty a plus tfenfans? said the mother, with a puzzled 
smile of approval. 



CHAPTEE X. 

Observations on the University of France. 

It is now a fundamental law of French society — sometimes in- 
fringed in practice, according to the spirit of the ruler for the 
time being — that all Frenchmen are " equal before the law." 
From this principle is naturally derived the equality of religious 
sects, although it is officially declared that France is a Catholic 
nation. The deductions of logic are too impartial for men who 
have passions and theories. At the next step, accordingly, we 
find that education, which should naturally be as free as the 
exercise of religion, is supposed to belong to a different order of 
things, and is made the subject of another chapter of legisla- 
tion. The reason is, that the laws were framed by men who 
secretly considered religion, (which in its forms they absurdly 
divorced from what they called the religious s A ntiment,) as a 
harmless crotchet, and who were indignant at intolerance be- 
cause they thought it monstrous that the world should be dis- 
turbed, and that one individual should inflict pain upon another 
for trifles of no more importance than a feather in a cap. I am 
afraid that in all countries indifference is a greater ally of tolera- 
tion than charity. At any rate, the French Solons, who, under 
the arbitrary eye of Napoleon I., endeavoured to modify society 
something in accordance with the philosophy of the eighteenth 
century, looked down on religious discussions as on struggles 
provoked by sheer folly, and decreed that every one might be 



THE CHURCH AND THE UNIVERSITY. 125 

as childish as he pleased, provided he refrained from interference 
with his neighbour. They did not seriously recognise Religion 
as an agent in this world's affairs. 

The consequence was, that the old struggle went on upon 
a new field, but remained a struggle for the cure of souls. The 
history of its vicissitudes, and the discussion of all the questions 
raised around the primary one, would take me much too far. 
I can merely notice one or two incidents. The parties, as I 
have said, were the University and the Church. An account 
of their movements under the monarchy of July, minutely given, 
would seem a parody of the Middle Ages, except that the lan- 
guage used was more choice, and that fine and imprisonment 
were substituted for the fagot and the scaffold. This time, in 
order, it would seem, to give the world a great lesson, Science 
and Learning were in possession of power ; whilst Infallibility 
appeared as a suppliant and pleaded for its rights. The Church, 
with the suppleness that distinguishes that kind of institution, 
soon adapted itself to its circumstances. There is but one vo- 
cabulary for opposition, but one set of passions that can be ap- 
pealed to for the redress of wrongs. The old apostles of pas- 
sive obedience, the hereditary enemies of free discussion, took 
up the weapons of their former enemies, and argued for liberty 
with the fervour of Protestantism, and in the aggressive tone 
of Democracy. In the famous memorial of 1844, the bishops 
of the Gallican Church sneered at the idea of State authority, 
arrayed a set of crushing arguments against monopoly, and 
asked for a fair field and no favour. They stated that, in 1808, 
all education had been centred in the hands of the University ; 
and, skipping over the interval from 1815 to 1830, complained 
that the permission given at the last-mentioned date to establish 
independent schools was illusory, because these schools were 
subject to examination and censure. Without saying what doc- 
trines and ideas they wanted to teach in secret, they argued 
very plausibly that schools subject to the inspection of a vast 



126 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

rival establishment like the University were but nominally free. 
In them " liberty of conscience " was impossible. 

It was a singular and suspicious circumstance to hear the 
heads of a church, which had formerly by all its acts proclaim- 
ed that it regarded its existence as incompatible with " liberty 
of conscience," reduced to appeal to that incendiary watchword. 
Men'easily believed, that those who adopted this tone were in- 
spired by the doctrines of Loyola, especially when Cardinal de 
Bonald, criticising the regulation according to which all persons 
examined for the office of schoolmaster were obliged to declare 
that they belonged to no religious congregation not legally 
established in France, described it as " a cruel torture for souls " 
— meaning that the Jesuits, who desired furtively to take part 
in education, were obliged to forswear themselves ! At any rate 
the University, partly actuated by the desire of self-preserva- 
tion and of absolute dominion inherent in all corporate bodies — 
partly in order to fulfil its mission and protect France against 
the knights-errant of ignorance and despotism, violently oppos- 
ed the demand for liberty of instruction, and spoke by its organs 
with all the disdain of authority, and with nearly ecclesiastical 
virulence. It might have been an aristocracy defending its 
right to be the exclusive corn-dealers of a nation. M. Dupin, 
among others, denounced the movement of the clergy as rt al- 
most insurrectionary," and sagaciously observed that " he who 
acknowledges no master soon becomes master himself." An 
abbd, too, was put in prison for libelling the University with 
the ferocity peculiar to his order, and several bishops wrote to 
soothe his solitude and deplore the interruption of his calumni- 
ous eloquence. A whole literature sprang up for the occasion. 
The friends of the clergy proved beyond a doubt, that the direct 
tendency of the University was to spread the doctrines of Deism, 
that it insinuated Materialism, and prepared the way for Pan- 
theism ; and the University responded by unveiling the myste- 
ries of the confessional, and demonstrating that the Catholic 



MESSRS. DUPIN AND MONTALEMBERT. 127 

doctrine, pushed to its extreme, tended, first, to prove the exist- 
ence of the mind, and then to paralyse the exercise of its facul- 
ties. The bigotry and intolerance which was forbidden to show 
itself between rival sects, raged in the quarrel between rival 
schoolmasters. M. Dupin defended the sacred rights of the 
University with the virulence of a Pope's Legate ; and M. 
Montalembert, beseeching that little children might be suffered 
to come unto him, brought to a perfection, never perhaps till 
then attained, the art of poisonous sarcasm, which he has since 
exercised with such effect in embittering the civil dissensions of 
his country. 

The time has not yet come for complete light to be thrown 
on the part played by the clergy and the religious faction in 
sapping the foundations of Louis Philippe's throne. It should 
be remembered, however, that in the memorial of 1844, to 
which I have already alluded, the bishops distinctly stated that 
" in three years M. Villemain had made the Government lose 
all the ground it had acquired in ten years of struggling, of 
prudence, and ability. By constantly repeating that the Unl 
versity and the State were identical, he forced the people to 
choose between religion and the king." This, certainly, was an ap- 
peal to insurrection — a threat of abandonment, at any rate : and 
explains the alacrity with which the clergy tuned their throats 
to the chant of " Domine, salvamfac Remimhlicam ; " and then, 
when power changed hands, of " Domine, salvum fac Impe- 
ratorem." " Salvum fac diabolum" says a satirical friend, 
will come next ; but that majesty will probably always prefer 
ruling by a representative. 

It is said that, towards the latter years of his reign, Louis 
Philippe was inclined to yield something to the demands of 
the clergy, and only held back because the extreme liberal or 
Republican party also began to cry out for freedom of instruc- 
tion. In this he saw a greater danger ; for he knew that the 
Church retained very little of its active prejudices in favour of 



128 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

the old reigning family, and could be completely bought over 
by any one who would give assistance in stifling the develop- 
ment of the human intellect, and checking that political pro- 
gress which is the great foe of ecclesiastical domination. It 
asks only for confined intellects to dazzle and delude, for slavery 
and poverty to console. When, therefore, the Revolutionary 
party, which promised to destroy tyranny, to universalise know- 
ledge, to banish misery by banishing wealth, came forward to 
assist the Church in its crusade for liberty, the Church looked 
askance at these equivocal allies, hesitated, faltered, distinguish- 
ed ; and his majesty thought it best to let things remain exactly 
as they were — the common conclusion of exhausted powers. 

Before the Revolution of, February the University certainly 
occupied a proud position, very little different from that in 
which it was placed by Napoleon I. I must here remark, that 
the word " university " in French changed its signification in 
1808. Before that period it expressed the same thing as in 
our language ; but then it came to mean, not a place of study, 
supplied with all means and appliances, and enjoying certain 
privileges, but the whole of the personnel of the " corps, en- 
seignantr The object of its founder was to create what might 
have been called a lay-church, taking Church to mean the cor- 
poration which is capped by the Pope, and includes all the 
degrees of ecclesiastical hierarchy, but excludes the congrega- 
tions. It is no longer correct, therefore, to say, that any one 
has studied at the University of Paris ; because by University 
is meant the entire body of teachers, from the very lowest up 
to the governing council. There is no University of Paris, but 
there is the Academy of Paris. 

The original constitution of the University was very impos- 
ing. Its head was the Grand Master, raised, at the Restora- 
tion, also to the position of Minister of Public Instruction. 
Then came the Council, composed of eight members with high 
salaries, appointed for life, and invested with judicial sanctity. 



COMPOSITION OF THE COUNCIL. 129 

By them everything connected with education was directed and 
governed. ISTo person could undertake to teach even the arts 
of reading and writing without their consent ; whilst, on the 
other hand, no professor could be deprived of his position and 
privileges but by their decree. The University was eminently an 
independent, self-governing body. The manifest object of its 
founder was to create an institution which, by its influence, 
should counterbalance the Catholic Church. To enable it to 
undertake this task with any chance of success, it was necessary 
to create an esprit de corps. The object was completely gained ; 
and, as I have already hinted, the University, composed of the 
very materials which had exercised such a dissolving power in 
the previous century, became at once a great instrument of 
conservatism ; as far, at least, as it is possible for the votaries 
of science and letters, which are by their nature progressive, to 
be so. 

This state of things has now, since the coup cPe'tat, com- 
pletely changed. The supreme direction of the University has 
been transferred to the hands of the Minister of Public Instruc- 
tion ; or, in other words, to those of the Chief of the State 
himself. The council continues to exist in name ; but its mem- 
bers are unpaid, and removable at pleasure. In order to show 
that its duties are merely a sham, the members chosen are for 
the most part people who have never paid any attention to the 
subject of education ; or bishops, to combat whose influence 
the University was originally established. One of the princi- 
pal personages is a jolly officer of dragoons ; another is a late 
apothecary and episodical minister ; a third, a bilious astrono- 
mer, and so on. The only one of the old council remaining is 
M. Saint-Marc Girardin. I shall mention an instance of the 
way in which discussions are carried on. Some proposition 
was made ; a- member, forgetting that he was there only pro 
for?nd, lightly said that the said proposition was against com- 
mon sense : upon which M. Fortoul, the minister, gravely ob- 
7* 



130 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

/ 

served that he declined discussing the matter, because the opin- 
ion impugned was not his, but had a much more august origin. 
It may easily be imagined that every one cried out against the 
unlucky critic, protesting that the proposition was the sublime 
of common sense. 

Formerly all professors were chosen by the Council, and 
were obliged to prove that they had passed certain examina- 
tions ; now the minister takes them where he finds them, and 
makes no inquiry, except to ascertain the extent of their devo- 
tion to the Imperial government. Many piquant anecdotes 
have been related to me in illustration ; but I refrain from 
repeating them, because it would be unnecessary to give pain 
to individuals. No doubt the pain in most cases would be 
merited, but I cannot volunteer to perform the office of an 
executioner. 

Next in rank to the members of the Grand Council were 
the Inspectors-General, whose duty was to visit the establish- 
ments of public instruction — all educational establishments, 
indeed — and discover in what spirit they were carried on. 
Their principal vigilance was directed to find out whether the 
Jesuits or other advocates of the old regime had contrived in 
any manner to get children under their care, and whether they 
were teaching them corrupt views of history and theology. 
A few questions made to the pupils would easily enable them to 
discover under what influences were th.6 minds of the children : 
whether, for example, they were taught that the Saint Bartho- 
lomew was a glorious day; whether Napoleon was represented 
as only the lieutenant-general of the kingdom of France ; whe- 
ther Henri Cinq was insinuated to be the real sovereign, &c, 
&c. Under the new system, the number of the general inspec- 
tors has been diminished to four. The object is as much as 
possible to retain the nomenclature of the old University, and 
thus not draw attention to the fact that it is utterly destroyed. 
At the same time the office of these inspectors has become 



THE ACADEMIES. 131 

superfluous, because the Government has determined no longer 
to oppose the efforts of the clergy to give a false direction to 
study. It has at length discovered that the Church only can 
prepare the minds of youth for slavery. This, among other ad- 
vantages, is an economy. The four inspectors never leave Paris, 
and never inspect anything. 

The country was formerly divided into twenty-seven districts, 
each with its academy, governed by a Rector and two or more 
inspectors. A complete academy answered nearly to our idea 
of a university, containing faculties of theology, law, medicine, 
science and letters, with royal colleges, communal colleges, &c. 
The Academy of Paris was, of course, the most, considerable — 
partly from its position, partly from the tendency there existed 
to send children and youth to study at the capital. At present 
there are academies in every department — each headed by a 
Rector, and each entitled to confer degrees. The Rectors, instead 
of depending only on the Grand Council, are revocable on the 
denunciation of a bishop, a priest, or a maire. As, however, it 
was impossible to establish eighty faculties, there are what may 
be called ambulating faculties, going about from one academy 
to the other at stated seasons. The persons employed in this 
service are the agrees of the colleges, or substitute professors. 

A boy sent to a royal or imperial college is required to take 
a trousseau and to pay a thousand francs a-year. The price is 
fixed and uniform, and there are no extras. Those who do not 
board, and the number is great, pay comparatively little. One 
of the privileges of the former royal colleges was, that all pupils 
in private schools were compelled every day to go and attend 
certain classes ; so that it was absolutely impossible that the 
current ideas of the day should be shut out from them. This 
mechanism was in itself admirably adapted to effect its purpose, 
and we can only regret that French legislation and philosophy 
could find no better means of protecting the youthful mind of 
the country from the disastrous influence of ultra-catholic doc- 



132 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

trines, than by inculcating, as it did rather indirectly than 
directly, the doctrines of pure Deism. I do not mean to say 
that it was the professed object of the University to inculcate^ 
these doctrines, but their adoption was the natural and necessary 
consequence of the whole system of education ; as, indeed, it 
must be the consequence of all merely literary, scientific, or pro- 
fessional instruction, directed by people who regard revelation 
as an absurdity. 

Every year, what was called a programme of studies was 
published for the government schools ; and although the private 
schools were not directly compelled to abide by it, yet virtually 
they were so, because otherwise their pupils could not be pre- 
pared for the examinations that formed the necessary steps to 
all kinds of employments. Since the establishment of the Em- 
pire, the tone of the studies has been generally lowered ; and in 
one of the programmes it is expressly forbidden " to incite the 
children to reason." As much as possible it is recommended 
to fill the memory with results, and to pass over demonstrations. 
The whole object of the Imperial system, which, according to 
the present Minister, is calculated to renew the generation in ten 
years, is to suppress the use of the active faculties of the mind, 
and even to falsify the most ordinary notions of history. Chil- 
dren are not allowed to advance in the annals of their own 
country beyond the time of Henry IV., except that they are 
taught the chief incidents in the reign of Napoleon. I have 
heard of a recent instance in which a priest explained to some 
pupils that the Saint Bartholomew was merely a row between 
the Catholics and the Protestants, in which the former got the 
upper hand. One of the lads, who had heard a different ac- 
count, went and asked for information from a professor of 
history, who gave him the real facts. He was immediately de- 
nounced, and received a letter of reprimand from the Minister, 
and a warning to keep his knowledge to himself for the future. 

When the programme of 1852 was published, many profes- 



DANGEROUS PHRASES. 133 

sors were not prepared to adapt their lessons to it. A booksel- 
ler saw that it would be a good speculation to publish a series 
of volumes on the various departments of study. Among 
others was a history of Napoleon, the writer of which had not 
been sparing of enthusiasm. However, a literary man, though 
inclined to subserviency, cannot emulate the monotonous base- 
ness of a courtier. Two phrases found their way into the epit- 
ome. One was this— a mere rhetorical qualification — " In spite 
of some faults," and then followed a gorgeous catalogue of the 
splendours of the Empire. The second was as follows: "The 
clergy obstinately refused to abandon the dimer Both were 
perceived and denounced by a priest. The Minister, however, 
glancing over the pages, had himself picked out the sacrilegious 
sentences, and had sent for the author in all haste to request 
him to suppress them before publication. But meanwhile four 
copies had been sold ; the denunciation of the priest compli- 
cated the affair ; and the Minister was obliged publicly to re- 
primand the author, who has probably since learned to tame 
the extravagances of his imagination. At any rate, I have not 
yet heard of his being on the way to Cayenne. 

I have already noticed some of the changes that have taken 
place in the constitution of the University, and have shown 
that, according to the idea of its founder, it no longer exists. 
It is singular that the great work of Napoleon I. should have 
found its chief antagonist in Napoleon III. However, we must 
bear in mind, in order to understand this fact, that the work of 
destruction was commenced by the Legislative Assembly un- 
der the Republic, at the instigation of the Legitimists and the 
Church, and by means of what was called the Great Party of 
Order — a party commissioned by the then President to experi- 
ment on all the known means of repression for his future guid- 
ance. I cannot here enter into any account of the political 
situation of the country at that period. I must content myself 
with saying, that there was a kind of concordat between the 



134 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

Philosophers, who perceived that Catholicism was the only cer- 
tain agent that could be employed to destroy the spirit of free- 
dom, and who preferred the sacrifice of their own anti-religious 
sentiments to the triumph of Democracy ; and the Church, 
which only asked to be admitted to competition with the laical 
teachers, reserving to itself to seize the monopoly at the first 
opportunity. By the law brought forward by M. de Falloux, 
and supported by M. Thiers, liberty of instruction was at length 
granted, both to the clergy and to private individuals. Most of 
the Republicans felt that this was but a transitory state of 
things, and that the next step would be to hand over public in- 
struction to the Church. Although, therefore, they disapproved 
of the constitution of the University, they defended it warmly, 
but in vain. The Burgraves, as the great committee organised 
for the overthrow of the republic in the interest of constitutional 
monarchy was popularly called, laughed at the sinister predic- 
tions of the Democrats, and sneeringly told them to depend 
on their ability, for that they had the destinies of France in 
their hands, and were quite as capable of arresting the reaction- 
ary movement as they were of putting a gag upon democracy. 
What followed is known. The Burgraves and their party were 
dispersed to the four winds of heaven ; it was proved that, 
whilst they fancied they guided everything, they were the vic- 
tims of a great political hoax : all their fine calculations were 
overthrown ; their enemies, it is true, were massacred, or impris- 
oned, or transported, but they were laughed at, put to death 
morally by ridicule ; and among other things the University, 
which they imagined they had organised for eternity, was sub- 
jected to new and more decisive manipulations. 

When the coup d'etat took place liberty of instruction was 
virtually withdrawn from private individuals, but maintained in 
the hands of the clergy. The Jesuits at present have at least 
forty establishments under their care, and their number is rapid- 
ly increasing. The way they proceed is characteristic. I have 



-THE JESUITS. 135 

already said that, besides the royal, now imperial colleges, there 
are what are called communal colleges. These were, it is true, 
under the jurisdiction of the University, but were nevertheless 
private speculations. Since the coup d'etat they have not been 
abolished, but a system of espionage and interference has been 
organised. Besides, parents have been persuaded or frightened 
from sending their children to them. In consequence they have, 
in many cases, failed for want of funds, or have been compelled 
to ask for assistance from the towns where they are established. 
At this juncture the Jesuits, who have hitherto remained be- 
hind the scenes, come forward, and offer to undertake the school 
without assistance. All the world over pecuniary considera- 
tions are powerful ; but in France, which affects to despise us 
because we love money, and which really envies us because we 
possess it, more than anywhere. The most sturdy Voltairians 
and Encyclopaedists, men who have rejoiced in the Reverends 
Peres of Beranger, are taken aback by the demand of a sub- 
sidy, and, looking at the mild Jesuits, begin to discover that they 
are not such terrible people after all. He who offers anything 
gratis is next kin to an angel. The disciples of Loyola are al- 
most always accepted. Some towns, however, as Soissons, have 
honourably declined their assistance. 

There are other circumstances, however, which militate in 
favour of the Jesuits. Like all corporate bodies, the University 
had believed in its own eternity and perfection, and had obsti- 
nately refused to submit to any reform. One of the great 
grievances, with reason complained of, was, that the professors 
it furnished were almost all superior to their condition. All 
studied — were compelled to study, for otherwise they could not 
pass their examination — to fit themselves for the highest ranks ; 
and when they were obliged to undertake the task of instruct- 
ing raw boys in the mere elementary parts of knowledge, did 
so with lassitude and disgust. Even the pupils noticed their 
indifference. A Jesuit, however, is, on the contrary, essentially 



136 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

patient, and possesses the art of insinuation to the highest de- 
gree. He knows the importance of small matters, and displays 
the same persevering energy, the same power of adaptation, in 
governing a first form, as he would in directing the affairs of a 
kingdom. Parents, therefore, when called upon to decide, 
often prefer placing their children under the care of men whose 
principles they admit to be dangerous, in order that their pro- 
gress in acquirements may be rapid, promising themselves to 
counteract at a future period the poison that is sure to be 
insinuated into their minds. This fact, which is testified to by 
the French themselves, is peculiarly characteristic of the 
nation, peculiarly illustrative of its want of a keen appreciation 
of the value of truth, and the superiority it gives to matters of 
acquirement over matters of conscience. The English go to the 
other extreme, and deprive themselves of the incontestable 
advantage of public education in order that the religious and 
moral opinions of their children may not be tampered with. 
The French, who conceive us to be a mere nation of shop- 
keepers, cannot understand this. All the discriminating touches 
in our character, indeed, escape them altogether. 

This notice of the past and present state of the University 
has already extended beyond the limits I had proposed to my- 
self, and yet is necessarily imperfect. I have not alluded to 
the pernicious system, according to which University degrees 
are granted — to the unnatural straining of the faculties at 
stated periods — to the necessity imposed from time to time of 
laying aside all serious study, in order to get up what may be 
called the table of contents of knowledge. This, however, 
would lead me to examine the whole subject of education, and 
force me to fetch illustrations from England. Suffice it to say 
that all, or almost all, theoretical writers in France, have con- 
demned the attempt made to render every student an encylo- 
psedia. This is not the place to touch on the constitution of 
the Polytechnic School. It is common to hear the expression, 



THE POLYTECHNIC SCHOOL BACHELORS. 13*7 

" Europe envies us the Polytechnic School." But that school 
has been condemned by experience, and is only kept up be- 
cause the nation is ashamed to abolish it and admit its error. 
The best thinkers in France now acknowledge, that the science 
of engineering has been retarded instead of being advanced by 
this much-bepraised institution. The students, however, are 
taught to consider themselves as occupying the post of honour 
in civilisation, and are generally rough and overbearing in 
manners. 

I must observe, that the Bachelorship of Letters is now no 
longer the first necessary step in the student's progress. Young 
men are allowed to choose between that and the Bachelorship 
of Sciences. The object, of course, is to discourage the pursuit 
of literature, always the great enemy of autocracy. Mathema- 
ticians and natural philosophers have ever been tolerably well 
inclined to put up with despotism, which is favourable to the 
quiet necessary for study. For the same reason there is a dis- 
position to disparage classical learning ; and I hear daily para- 
phrases on Hobbes' great attack upon Grecian literature. We 
shall see in a few years what will be the effect produced ; but 
although I admit that the present wielder of authority has 
studied with marvellous attention, and collected into a com- 
plete code all the means by which absolute governments have 
prevented the explosion of thought in their dominions, I doubt 
whether he will succeed in suppressing the activity that already 
exists. Ideas may be stopped for a time, like contraband goods 
at a frontier, but they cannot be eradicated from men's minds. 
In religious persecutions, symbols and books are sometimes in- 
effectually hid away in caves ; but faith retires to an inexpug- 
nable fortress. Thus ideas of liberty, combated in schools, 
erased from the press, frightened from common conversation, 
will continue to be nursed in the family circle, and implied in 
the very language in daily use. To prevent their transmission 
it would be necessary to expurgate the dictionary, and invent 



138 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

a fresh vocabulary. The consequence will probably be, that 
the new generation will forget the absurdities, the errors, and 
the crimes of their fathers ; freedom will take again the beauti- 
ful hues of distance ; it will again appear that a nation has 
only to desire liberty to enjoy it : youth will forget, or rather 
they will not have learned, that those who would themselves 
govern must submit to some privations, and^ make up their 
minds to some exertion ; the indolent will once more imagine 
that the honour of citizenship may co-exist at the same time 
with the comfortable carelessness of slavery ; and a great un- 
reasoning aspiration for better times may, by its explosion, toss 
the pedants of despotism into the insignificance from which they 
have emerged. The monstrous attempt of one man to domineer 
over millions of expanding souls, to choose their nourishment, 
to arbitrate on their growth, and to point out the path they 
must travel, cannot remain without its punishment. Meanwhile 
it will serve as a proof to those who yet remain incredulous 
that, however much France may deserve its present abasement, 
it desires better things, and does not voluntarily bow the head. 
What necessity would there be to remodel the generation, if 
the generation had really received its master with transport ? 
For my part, my old attachment to France struggles against 
the severity of my convictions. I might rejoice to see it de- 
prived of liberty for a time, because, when it acquired liberty, 
it knew not how to use it But all its children seized by a new 
kind of conscription, to be experimented on by Jesuits and 
priests — to be systematically furnished with false conceptions of 
history, philosophy, and morality — to be gradually shut off from 
community with all great souls — to be intellectually maimed 
and blinded — to be inoculated with the degrading sentiment 
of loyalty — the spaniel's virtue, the patriotism of the kennel, — 
really the punishment is too great, or would be too great, if it 
were not tamely borne ! What I fear is, that in the minds of 
all this youth in bondage there will be formed nothing but a 



TIMES TO COME. 139 

great negative, which will produce itself some day in convul- 
sion and massacre without an object ; for all the years passed 
under the present regime are years lost to progress ; and if a 
Constitutional Monarchy could not prepare the French for self- 
government, will an Empire ? 



CHAPTER XL 

Reading M«n— Celebrity — Public Libraries — The College of France and the In- 
stitute — French Savans — Ignorance — French Language — Knowing Gentlemen — 
Geographical Blnnders — The Mamelukes — Books of Travels — Political Economy 
— The Young Noblesse — How Knowledge is Lost— Revolution of '89— Relics of 
Barbarism — Property and Mind — Laws of Inheritance — Peasant Ignorance — The 
Electors— The Malforts and the Ribeaumonts— Literature in the Provinces — Skin- 
deep Civilisation. 

I have not said much of " the reading men " among the stu- 
dents, because this class is very much alike in all countries. 
Most persons will admit that it does not play any very con- 
spicuous part in giving a character to a nation. Those who obtain 
the highest prizes in colleges and universities are seldom heard 
of afterwards in the world. "Did you ever know a Senior 
Wrangler who was not an ass ? " the other day said the wittiest 
and the least reasonable of our members of parliament, exag- 
gerating to the limits of injustice an observation that is begin- 
ning to be found in everybody's mouth. In France, the men 
who afterwards distinguished themselves have generally led 
rather a wild life as students, mixing, however, a good deal of 
poetry and romance with their wildness. Every year a certain 
proportion of them, who have been destined by their parents 
to seek the positive profits of the legal or the medical profes- 
sion, are seduced by what seem to be the facile triumphs of 
literature, and instead of attending hospitals, or poring over the 
Institutes, take to poetry, the drama, or fiction, and persuade 
themselves that honours and wealth will, by their means, come 



LIBRARIES AND BOOK-LENDING. 141 

to them in time to be enjoyed. Perhaps, in other countries 
also, the greater number of those who pretend to be in search 
of literary fame are anxious only for the applause of women, and 
believe at any rate that the shouts of public enthusiasm will 
cany their names effectually to ears which otherwise would never 
listen to their tender complaints. At any rate, most young 
French authors seem more anxious to obtain a sudden and co- 
terie reputation than to produce complete works of art. And 
after all, what is celebrity ? " It is,' 5 says Champfort, " the ad- 
vantage of being known by those of whom you know nothing." 
A literature which addresses itself to what may be called a local 
public must always have certain remarkable qualities, and taken 
altogether with due deductions for personal eccentricities and 
extravagances, and a total elimination of that great portion 
which is mere conventional filing-up, must accurately represent 
the general character of a period. 

The means of study at command in Paris are, perhaps, 
superior to any that may be found in the world. In the 
first place, books are very cheap, not only reprints and works 
of the day, but even books of reference. The public libraries 
are numerous and extensive. It is true, there are no catalogues 
accessible to the public. That at the Rue de Richelieu has never 
yet been copied out, but is made on cards, nicely arranged in 
little boxes. " What do you do," said a visitor, " if a box falls 
and the cards are scattered abroad V " We pick them up and 
arrange them again," was the reply. The consequence is, that 
a stranger is obliged to know beforehand the title of the book 
he wants. However, the librarians are, in general, learned and 
accomplished men : and not only so, but remarkably affable and 
obliging whenever they are applied to by persons who really 
wish to study seriously. 

Formerly, the system of lending books to authors and stu- 
dents, properly recommended, was carried to an absurd extent. 
One gentleman, when editing Moliere, was allowed to keep all 



142 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

the editions of that poet belonging to one library for four years ; 
and another writer took home, for an indefinite period, all the 
books which, directly or indirectly, referred to the history of 
Bretagne. However, as many losses occurred, the same facili- 
ties are no longer afforded — at any rate to the same extent. 
In spite of the great number of reading-rooms in Paris, they 
are nearly always full. Readers rush to their places as soon as 
the doors are open, and claim the books which have been care- 
fully kept for them since the day before. New-comers are often 
obliged to wait until the last hour to get a place. Some libra- 
ries, as that of Ste. Genevieve in the students' quarter, are open 
in the evening, and in winter are said to be frequented by poor 
learned men and aspirants for knowledge who have not where- 
with to pay for a fire at home. An idea may be formed of the 
completeness of the public library system in Paris from the fact 
that I have heard complaints made of the want of an admin- 
istrative library. 

The College of France is an institution, of the principle of 
which the French may well be proud. It was established under 
Francis I. as a means by which any new sciences that make 
their appearance in the world might find a voice, and a position 
from which to address the young and the inquiring. It has only 
recently been brought under the jurisdiction of the University, 
having been formerly almost a part of the royal household. The 
professors were named directly by the chief of the State, and 
received their emoluments from him. The lectures are open to 
all comers gratis, and sometimes even this publicity has de- 
generated into abuse. People go in to eat their lunch near 
the stove, whilst some learned man is discoursing to a select 
audience of adepts on Greek roots or Oriental conjugations. 

The Institute of France, which has an entirely independent 
existence, except that it receives from the Government the sum 
of about 22,0Q0Z. sterling per annum — exactly what is granted 
to the Grand Opera to enable it to pay extravagant prices to 



THE INSTITUTE OF FRANCE. 143 

Alboni and Cruvelli — is an extremely useful institution consider- 
ed as a means ol collecting and preserving the heavy materials 
of knowledge. It is composed of five academies, the first of 
which, the French Academy, par excellence, has fallen into con- 
tempt from the subserviency of its members, who fill vacant 
chairs with people whose claims are not literary but political — 
with the pets of parties and not with the glories of the country. 
Some of the other academies have published, as is well known, 
many valuable series of memoirs and historical collections, which 
it would surpass the strength of any private individual to un- 
dertake. The Academy of Moral and Political Sciences has 
brought forth a. collection of pamphlets against the Socialists, 
which have done more harm to the cause they were intended 
to support than to its adversaries. Extravagant theories are 
often assisted by injudicious opponents like these, who do not 
answer from the abundance of their conviction, but as a mere 
matter of duty ; and who, looking upon themselves as the de- 
positaries of all the knowledge in a country, presume to address 
grown men as they would children, and scold and coax instead 
of reasoning. It is worthy of remark, that the members of this 
establishment have not shown much subserviency to the new 
order of things. When M. Lebrun, one of the members, was 
appointed senator, he was for some time ashamed to appear 
among his colleagues ; and on New-year's Day lots are drawn 
to decide who shall go and pay his Majesty the compliments 
of the season, — just as the sailors of the Medusa decided who 
should next be eaten. 

It would be useless to enumerate all the means of know- 
ledge which are at the disposal of the French public. Their 
very existence proves that there must be a class, however limit- 
ed, with sufficient influence upon the Government to induce it 
to patronise knowledge and give a literary colour to the institu- 
tions of the country ; and in fact, we find that there is a body 
of men, some marshalled in academies, others not so, who alto- 



144 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

gether may be said to be in possession of the complete results 
or modern intellectual development. I am very far from 
wishing to depreciate our own learned men in order to set 
up the rival claims of others ; and, indeed, I cannot pretend 
to be competent to strike the balance. But it is my impression 
that, looking upon the savans of Paris as constituing a par- 
ticular class, they may be considered as superior in com- 
pleteness of knowledge to any corresponding class in any coun- 
try. I do not give this simply as my own opinion, nor am I 
prepared to maintain it ; to judge of others, one must know 
what they know ; but it is the result of a comparison of the 
admissions made by impartial foreigners of all origins. Even 
the most national elect France by the election of Aristides. 

Having said thus much, I am obliged to add that current 
French society is about the most ill-informed that can be met 
with. Coleridge could not understand the ignorance of Plato. 
Anybody who is not dazzled by a few well-chosen words learned 
by heart may understand the ignorance of the French. One of 
their writers protests very violently that his country ought not 
to be despised for submitting to the coup d'etat, exclaiming, 
among other absurdities, "A day of humiliation for France 
would be a hundred thousand times worse than the passion of 
the Man-God." He, therefore, can scarcely be suspected of a 
design to depreciate ; yet, descending from this altitude, he says 
that France is the country in which there exists the widest di- 
vision or gap between civilisation and barbarism — in other 
words, that the cultivation and refinement so much talked of is 
restricted to a class, and that underneath may be found the 
extremest ignorance. This, so far as it goes, is a correct repre- 
sentation. It is necessary to add, that the rank and file of what 
may be called the civilised classes, have rather the appearance 
of knowledge than knowledge itself. This fact might be predi- 
cated on several distinct grounds. It might be proved, both 
from what we have seen of the way in which education is car- 



THE FRENCH LANGUAGE. 145 

ried on, and from the whole tenor of recent history. The French 
mind possesses some wonderful qualities, rarely sufficiently de- 
veloped. It excels in seizing on any ideas that may be pain- 
fully elaborated by thinkers of other nations, and expressing 
them with so great a lucidity and clearness that they seem 
perfectly new, and are scarcely recognised by their inventors. 
Communicative eloquence also is one of their gifts, which no 
nation possesses in an equal degree. They seem formed to be 
the expositors of new doctrines, the apostles of opinion. It is 
impossible to exaggerate their power of propagating ideas 
through the world. They have a language which, if not precise 
or philosophical, appears to make even the obscurest things 
clear, and often persuades without leaving any impression. It has 
none of the angles or the stops that provoke inquiry — breaking 
up the stream of a discourse like rocky barriers and islands ; 
but flows on smooth and level, and seems to reflect all things 
with perfect accuracy until we look up at the sharp, bold forms 
of nature. The French, to forsake this comparison, have brought 
the use of their weapon to the highest perfection. It is not a 
sabre or a battle-axe ; it is a small-sword, that sometimes dp- 
generates into a poignard. By its aid they attack with equal 
success the prejudices and the principles of the world. For it 
is necessary to admit that this nation, formed to play so con- 
spicuous a part in the civilisation of mankind, has often aban- 
doned its high destiny, and has exercised its power of persuasion 
in propagating errors, and its power of attack in destroying 
things most respectable and useful. 

To say that French society is ignorant appears a very sweep- 
ing assertion, and I do not do so without some fear of laying 
myself open to blame. By ignorant, I mean unprovided with 
that general information on geography, history, statistics, politi- 
cal and moral philosophy, which forms the basis, more or less 
solid, of public opinion in England. Special men are usually 
well up in their particular departments; and I believe it is 
8 



146 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

admitted that they are superior in acquaintance with the gene- 
ralities of science to us, whilst their deficiency lies in practice. 
French engineers are perfect in their theory, French physicians 
inimitable in diagnosis ; but we construct finer works and cure 
more patients than they. 

When you first enter into conversation with a young French- 
man in good society, he generally begins by surprising you with 
the extent of his acquirements. An Englishman of the same 
class will bear no comparison. The other knows the names of 
all arts and sciences, and the elementary vocabulary of each. 
He has learned them at his academy, and used them in pass- 
ing examinations. It is natural to suppose at the outset, that 
he who seems to know the geography of knowledge, the situa- 
tions and frontiers of its kingdoms, must be an all-accomplished 
man. If you push your interlocutor, however, on any one point 
he will become uneasy, and try to escape, which politeness will 
compel you to allow him to do. Most Frenchmen have by 
them a shrewd remark or two, made use of to suggest their 
acquaintance with the science of philology, in which they are 
in truth peculiarly deficient. An amusing instance is that of a 
sprightly gentleman, who thought he had heard the lady of the 
house where I was say that I had just returned from Greece ; 
upon which he felt bound to make a learned disquisition on the 
Romaic, based, as I soon perceived, upon a single word which he 
had caught up. Another one took me by the button, and 
stated it as his opinion that the Fellatahs were an Egyptian 
colony, because he knew that there were fellahs (laborers) in 
Egypt. What surprised me most was the glibness, the ease, 
and the ingenious manner in which these things were put for- 
ward. In less flagrant cases, not being a very profound philolo- 
gist, I have often been quite bewildered by observations put 
forward in the most deliberate tone, but which afterwards 
proved to be mere fancies struck out for effect. 

In general, the magisterial way in which young Frenchmen, 



IGNORANCE AND ITS CAUSES. 147 

fresh from their studies, decide on all questions, political, moral, 
and scientific, excites some wonder and not a little admiration. 
Self-possession is a great quality. They never say, " I don't 
know — I don't understand that subject." A friend of mine 
once even reproached me with too often admitting my igno- 
rance : " You will be thought nothing of," said he, " if you 
don't cure yourself of that habit." 

There are two causes for this extreme assumption : first, the 
natural vanity of the people ; and secondly, the affected com- 
pleteness of the round of education. To plead ignorance is not 
only to admit intellectual inferiority, but to acknowledge that 
the opportunities of knowledge existing have not been taken 
advantage of, probably from humility of position. As the Gov- 
ernment undertakes to teach everything, there is nothing which 
everybody is not bound to know. 

JSTo doubt there is much to add to the excellence of the ed- 
ucation of what are called the educated classes in England. 
Even geography, about which we know more than all the other 
nations of the world put together, is learned by many piece- 
meal ; and Lord Palmerston's sarcastic observation, that many 
of his opponents were not aware of the positions or the exist- 
ence of certain Asiatic cities until they read his despatches, 
may have been true. However, it is rare to meet amongst us 
examples of the mental destitution so common in France. Even 
those whose business it is to be acquainted with the resources 
and characteristics of foreign countries are content with having 
a good system of geography on their shelves and a map upon 
their walls. M. Baroche, when Minister of Foreign Affairs, ap- 
pointed a Consul to Mosoul in Abyssinia ; and a well-known 
learned man had his book translated into Spanish, that it might 
be read at Rio Janeiro. There is an authentic instance of a 
statesman who mistook Transylvania for Pennsylvania. A friend 
was once travelling in the Aine, and had the following conver- 
sation with a member of the Council-General of that depart- 



148 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

ment : " You come from the East, do you not ? " — " Yes." " Do 
you speak what are called the Oriental languages ? " — " Some 
of them." " But do not people in those countries speak them ? " 
— " No ; not all. The Turks speak Turkish ; the Arabs Arabic, 
and so forth." " Indeed ! that is droll. Of what use, then, are 
professors of Oriental languages in Paris ? " — " To teach persons 
connected with diplomacy." " By the way, what is the Grand 
Turk ? "— " It is the old name of the Sultan." " Very good. I 
must tell you I have an idea. The reason that France has 
ceased to have influence in the East is that there are no longer 
any Mamelukes in France. What has become of the Mame- 
lukes ? " This worthy gentleman, being as unacquainted with the 
history of his own country as with geography, would probably 
have stared if he had been told that, whilst he was a young 
man, the colony of Egyptians established at Marseilles was 
massacred, man, woman, and child, by the Royalists in 1815 ; 
but that the Mamelukes of which he spoke were simply a corps 
so called, instituted by Napoleon, equivalent to the present 
corps of Spahis. 

Although it is pompously announced by the colleges that 
the pupils are taught geography, they learn nothing but a kind 
of catechism containing the names of the capitals of countries, and 
one or two epigrammatic, and, of course, erroneous, ideas con- 
nected therewith, which stick to them through life, even if they 
afterwards attempt to read. I believe this is the origin of their 
obstinate notion that England, or London, is a city built in the 
centre of a misty lagoon — a sort of Venice in the Fogs. There 
is no Chair of Geography in France, except one at the Sorbonne, 
where the professor busies himself principally with classical 
times. In the best society tolerably correct notions are enter- 
tained of the outlines of ancient Greece, but few know any- 
thing of the results of modern discovery. This is one reason 
of the intense astonishment created by the enterprising and 
unfortunate Lieutenant Bellot. 



CARELESSNESS OF TRUTH. 149 

The popular books of travels in France are those which are 
so mixed with fiction that it is impossible to place any reliance 
upon them. Every Frenchman starts with an idea that he 
must be the hero of some wonderful personal adventures, or 
the author of some remarkable discoveries. I remember a 
slight but characteristic instance of the lightness with which 
they write. M. Marcellus quotes a Greek song, " improvised " 
in his presence by an Armenian. This song is as old as the 
hills, and known in every village in European Turkey. One 
unfortunate circumstance is, that the vivid but incorrect accounts 
which have been published have left an impression, even on 
the most serious men, that they know all that can be known. 

M. M , when attached to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 

was offered some valuable documents descriptive of a country 
which every one supposed was to become the seat of war. He 
refused them in an off-hand manner, saying, " Nous savons 
tout celaP 

I am fond of relating my conversation with a clever drama- 
tist. He told me he was writing a five-act comedy to satirise 
the English. " Satirise away," said I ; " I wish you could cure 
us of some of our absurdities. No doubt you have brought 
back a good crop of them from England." " I have never 
been in England," quoth he. " But," said I, apologising for 
him, superfluously imagining that my remark was embarrassing, 
"conversation with some of the specimens you meet abroad 
may perhaps suffice." He could not speak a word of English. 
Persisting in my benevolence, I suggested that he might have got 
his ideas from reading our literature ; but the only word of our 
language he knew was sportmen ; and it turned out that he 
was going to make fun of our Newmarket aristocracy, our 
stable minds, and our amateur coachmen. I wished him great 
success in his undertaking. 

These few facts will give an idea of the kind of ignorance 
that prevails in France on geography. It is ignorance based 



150 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

on complete indifference as to what takes place beyond the 
frontier. In other departments other causes produce similar 
results. With the exception of a few studious men, whose ten- 
dency is always to push principles to their extreme consequences, 
no one knows anything of political economy. I might give a 
hundred instances, but the well-known fact will suffice that all 
Frenchmen, of all parties, from the advocates of Autocracy to 
the disciples of Socialism — all round the hoop of speculation, 
indeed — believe that the State is the creator and distributor of 
wealth, and upon it rely for existence, quite as much as they 
depend upon the Church for salvation. 

The relics of the old noble families are in general but slight- 
ly informed. Under the July Monarchy they used to send 
their children to be educated by the Jesuits at Fribourg, or at 
Bagnolet in Belgium, near the French frontier, or else at the 
free-schools, or kept them at home, always under the care of 
ecclesiastics. There are booksellers who sell books made on 
purpose for this generation — histories of the Revolution, of the 
Church ; essays on chemistry, political economy, and so on — 
all filled with the most comical misrepresentations. They ex- 
ert great influence, being warranted by the Clergy. A friend 
once heard it naively stated in a large company by a gentleman, 
who was holding forth on the advantages and pleasures of sci- 
ence, that chemistry had rendered great service to the cause of 
Order, for careful analysis had proved that the blood of the well- 
born contained more oxygen than that of the ill-born — a clear 
confirmation of the divine institution of rank ! There are some 
small agricultural towns which have been chosen as favourite 
places of residence by the old aristocracy, who amuse their lei- 
sure hours by studying heraldry and genealogy, which are so 
highly conducive to the preservation of a Christian spirit. Lat- 
terly, however, the noblesse has begun to detach some of its 
members to join what are called the Agricultural Comitiae. 
Others form part of the Archaeological Societies, many of 



THE YOUNG NOBLES. 15 

which have been founded by the clergy with political aims. By 
glorifying, for example, the architecture of the middle ages, 
they try to cast a halo upon everything that was contemporary. 
It required a Jesuitical knowledge of human nature to hit out 
this plan ; but it has proved successful, and seemingly intelli- 
gent men have been converted to Catholicism by wandering in 
ancient cathedrals. 

Some of the young nobles come to Paris to study law with- 
out any intention of practising, but few are influenced in any 
permanent manner. They retain their stubborn prejudices and 
unfounded vanity, because they remain under priestly and party 
influences. One uniform direction is given to their minds. In 
conversation they all boldly declare that the letters of Pascal 
are mere calumnies, diabolical inventions; that Father Loriquet 
is a great historian ; and that pictures have been known to wink 
and weep. It is this obstinate adherence to a track marked 
out for them on which I chiefly base my conviction that 
everything maybe overturned in France, but that this presump- 
tuous and narrow-minded race can never return to power, and 
is indeed destined to leave no known posterity. 

It is wonderful with what facility young men of all classes, 
who have pursued their studies in Paris, when removed to the 
country, lose the varnish they have received, and become mere 
billiard-players, drinkers of petits-verres, smokers, and talkers 
of oxen. Only chosen natures in all countries, perhaps, can 
resist provincial influences. As a collateral example of the way 
in which instruction may be lost I shall mention an instance of 
a, young painter, who gave himself up so much to the manual 
part of his art that in six years he came to spell like a cookmaid 
on the few occasions when he took the trouble to write. He 
recovered, however, when, from some reason of self-love, he was 
compelled to use his pen. Instances of complete degradation 
of seemingly poetical students into opaque peasants have come 
under my notice. M. D went away after he had finished 



152 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

his medical studies a lively, witty, knowing fellow, and came 
back to buy drugs three years afterwards, fat and foolish, and 
talking with awe of the sub-prefect of his department. Simi- 
lar facts have constantly presented themselves, and I am inclin- 
ed to take them as proofs of the very slight degree to which 
instruction enters the French mind. 

Sufficient attention has not yet, perhaps, been directed to 
the fact, that in 1*789 the vast majority of the French nation 
were not only serfs, but mere barbarians — almost savages. That 
such was the case, may be proved by the admissions of his- 
torical writers of both the great parties ; for those who favour 
the Revolution point very naturally to the degraded state of the 
mass as a condemnation of the Royal Government, whilst their 
adversaries triumphantly adduce the barbarism of the people 
to show that political power ought not to have been given 
them. Ity all accounts the peasantry were ill-clothed^H-lodged, 
ill-fed, full of ignorance, superstition, and prejudice. In no 
country, perhaps, were there so many local differences, so many 
varieties in language and manners. The Monarchy, which 
boasted of its thousand years' duration, had done nothing to- 
wards assimilating the various elements of the nation. The 
Breton and the Franche-Comtois, the Fleming and the Pro- 
vencal, remained nearly what feudality had left them. All re- 
finement and all knowledge were concentrated in the courtiers, 
the magistracy, and a small portion of the middle classes. 
The Revolution seized on the rough ore that lay scattered over 
the country, and cast it suddenly into its fiery crucible. Its 
civilising effect was marvellous, but it could not be successful 
at once. A century more will probably elapse before the un- 
cultivated tribes of which the nation is in great part composed 
are elevated to the dignity of citizenship. Very clever and 
authoritative writers have said that every Frenchman under- 
stands every word of his language. This is too absurd to be 
refuted. The fact is, setting aside the Provencals, that one half 



RELICS OF SAVAGE TRIBES, 153 

the population cannot comprehend what the other half says. 
Nearly all the agricultural districts use patois, or dialects more 
or less harsh and disagreeable in sound. The real French 
language is spoken only by a very small proportion of the 
people. 

In various parts of the country are found tribes, which 
travellers not inclined to circumnavigate the globe, yet desirous 
of studying human nature in its lowest possible state, visit and 
examine, as they would the inhabitants of the Andaman 
islands. Of course these places voted unanimously for the Em- 
pire. Even up to the great Revolution there remained traces 
of Phallic worship in the Limousin, where loaves of a peculiar 
shape were distributed on a certain day : and still later, in Poi- 
tiers, there is said to have existed a much more singular relic 
of the same obscene rites. In the neighbourhood of Paris the 
Druidical fires are burned on St. John's Day, though none of 
the peasants can tell why : and the Enfants de Choeur, in the 
procession of the Fete Dieu, renewed from the Greeks, shed 
incense and flowers before the holy sacrament. Here and 
there — not only in the Landes and Auvergne, but even in 
Franche-Comte — are colonies of Spaniards, whose origin can 
be traced in their features and speech. The Corsicans are still 
almost as wild in character as the Bedawins. The Bretons, 
despite the schools established under Louis Philippe in order to 
civilize them, are still disgracefully barbarous, ISTo moral teach- 
ings were effectual to check, among other things, their propen- 
sities to intoxication ; whatever was done was by means of sa- 
tirical ballads, an evidence of an extremely low state. In the 
southern provinces the people exhibit many Eastern customs 
and traits of character, and it is necessary to remember this in 
estimating their conduct. 

Without referring to particular divisions of the people it 
may be said, — and in support of this statement native authori- 
ties can be quoted to infinity, — that the French peasant, taken 
8* 



154 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

altogether, is almost unequalled in brutality, and ignorance, and 
sordidness. The possession of land seems to have a stupefying 
and demoralizing influence in most countries, unless counter- 
acted by very highly-wrought education. Is property really 
" robbery," that its holders pay the same penalty as other crimi- 
nals in the destruction of their intellects ? I have sometimes 
asked myself this absurd question, when thinking of the violent 
antipathy to slave-grown sugar of the party which fought for 
slavery to the last gasp. The tendency of violence and fraud 
seems to be to debase man to the level of the beasts which have 
such characteristics. Cunning men have foxy looks and foxy 
minds, and cruel women have the eyes of tigers. Modern 
philosophers, who know every thing, tell us that we have ripened 
out of an inferior grade of animals. I am disposed to think, 
that in the case of the French peasantry the process is not quite 
completed. Their existence under present conditions is owing, 
as every one knows, to their emancipation at the Revolution of 
'89 : since which time the entire efforts of the little mind they 
possess have been directed to the acquisition of landed property. 
There is a singular illusion abroad, to the effect that the vast 
number of small holdings that now exist is the result of the 
operation of the law of equal inheritance. The tendency of 
that law is certainly to multiply estates ; but when we reflect 
that French families rarely exceed two or three in number, 
and that girls inherit as well as boys, it will be evident, that in 
a country that only doubles its population once in a hundred 
years, very little effect can have been hitherto produced. Some 
say that the average number of children to a marriage is four, 
of which two, at least, die before the age of thirty-six. The 
two remaining inherit two fortunes, the paternal and the mater- 
nal ; so that the number of estates ought not to diminish at 
all. The real cause of the increase of properties, until lately, 
has been the desire of acquisition that torments the peasantry, 
and induces them to bid high for small allotments. When an 



DIVISION OF PROPERTY. 155 

estate is to be sold it is generally cut up, because it fetches more 
in small parcels. The great landholders are gradually leaving 
the soil to be developed by those who occupy it. The peasants 
will make any sacrifices to escape the obligation of paying rent. 
If there be a piece of land to be sold for a thousand francs, and 
they have only five hundred, they borrow the remainder at an 
interest which the land can scarcely return them. This is the 
explanation of the constant complaint of the Socialists, that 
" usury gnaws away the provinces," and accounts for the exist- 
ence of the Communist sects among the chief supporters of the 
empire. 

At present the extreme limit of the division of property 
seems to have been reached, and there is a tendency in land to 
collect in comparatively large farms. In this case, as in every 
other, the principle of free trade has been found useful. Those 
who can make use of land acquire it, and those who cannot 
give it up. Nothing is commoner, for example, than for two 
young men to whom a house and vineyard have been left, to 
agree, that one shall keep the property, whilst the other, with 
half the proceeds, shall start in life, go up to Paris, or to the 
chief place of the department, or even work in the village. 
Economists, whose great fear seems V> be that their theories 
will not be able to manage the world when properly replenished, 
point with pleasure to the fact, that in the same proportion 
that land has become divided, "imprudent marriages" have 
diminished ; and glory in the state of immorality, which is the 
necessary result of leaving an ignorant and unprincipled youth 
without family ties during ten or twelve of the most vigorous 
years of their lives. 

It is difficult to convey an idea of the deplorable ignorance 
of the agricultural classes in France. Forty per cent, of the 
whole population of the country can neither read nor write, and 
a still greater proportion does not use the little knowledge it 
possesses. Children go to school in the provinces up to the 



156 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

time of the first communion, about the age of twelve years, and 
are then sent into the fields. The only faculty strongly devel- 
oped by education and example is that of acquisitiveness. It 
is really wonderful to witness the eagerness with which old and 
young men and women dispute for a liard. I am sometimes 
strongly reminded of the Egyptian fellahs. It would be a curi- 
ous task to compare the low cunning of the paysans, by which 
they enrich themselves, with the wit of the Irishman, which 
leaves him poor. 

I cannot here give an account of the state of the French 
provinces, for my object is only to indicate out of what raw 
material the ornamental specimens that claim so great a superi- 
ority over the rest of the world are manufactured. One anec- 
dote, however, occurs to me worth relating. At Abbeville, two 
electors under Louis Philippe's reign — that is, rich men paying 
heavy contributions to the State — were discussing the relative 

merits of a candidate. One said, " I shall vote for M. C , 

because he has two hundred thousand ecus worth of land under 
the sun." The other' replied, " I shall vote for M. R , be- 
cause he is a cunning dog. He had a trial with Pierre for the 
little farm down yonder, and gained his cause ! " They choose 
their candidates for their* wealth. Another man voted for De 
Tocqueville, because the electioneering agent told him that the 
great writer earned three hundred thousand francs a-year by his 
books. I suppose these creatures would be admired by some 
in England, who talk of the " legitimate influence of property;" 
but we may be quite sure, that a class that confounds political 
capacity with the power of acquiring riches will always, if al- 
lowed to work its will, lead a nation to ruin. When the two 
hundred thousand electors who sold France under Louis Phi- 
lippe were displaced, the classes under them were found to 
share their sordid ideas. It is absurd to expect to see a virtu- 
ous and high-minded people in bondage to a corrupt order. 
The poor peasants shared the base principles of their superiors. 



THE CASTLE OF MALFORT. 157 

They hated the Republic, because they had to pay forty-five 
centimes additional towards the temporary necessities of the 
State ; and were blind to all reason until they could revenge 
this act of " spoliation," by bringing themselves and the rest of 
the country under the yoke of despotism. 

Some of the vulgar opinions of the French peasantry are 
probably shared amongst us. They believe firmly that all tax- 
gatherers make their fortunes by pocketing the money of the 
people. This may be a tradition from the times of the old 
monarchy. Not many years ago the peasants of the Berri 
nearly assassinated Dr. Hepin for trying to introduce a new 
kind of plough. Up to a very short period before the great 
Revolution, in many provinces, oxen were used to draw gen- 
tlemen's carriages. Even now the horse has not replaced 
horned cattle to anything like the same extent as in England. 
Pierre Dupont, in his song of " Les Boeufs^ has capitally de- 
scribed the intense attachment of the peasants for their oxen, 
which equals almost that of the Arab for his horse. 

In talking over, with some friends, this subject of the state 
of the provinces, in connexion with the rapid deterioration of 
what are called the educated and refined classes under unfa- 
vourable circumstances, some curious instances were brought 
forward of the rapidity with -which even local facts are forgotten 
in the present state of France. One gentleman, an artist, wan- 
dering about the Limousin, fell upon a mass of ruins near 
Brives, called the Castle of Malfort. He compared it, oddly, to 
an old single tooth left in a jaw. Next day he went to a party, 
where all the principal people of the place were assembled, and 
made careful inquiries. No one had ever heard who the Mal- 
forts were; and yet it turned out that in 1787, a celebrated 
lawyer, afterwards member of the Constituant and of Napoleon's 
Senate, had pleaded the cause of the town of Brives against the 
Lords of Malfort, who wished to overthrow the walls of the 
town. In any other country, over which the hurricane of Rev- 



158 PURPLE TINTS OP PARIS. 

olution had not swept, accurate and affecting traditions would, 
most probably, have been preserved with reference to the family 
that inhabited so remarkable a ruin. Perhaps, in one sense, 
this oblivion is commendable and useful : for there is nothing 
that degrades the mind so much as the habit existing in our 
own provincial places of dwelling with fondness on the sayings 
and doings of " the first families of the county." But in the 
cases of which I speak, there seems reason to believe that peo- 
ple have forgotten, because they have descended in the social 
scale, approached nearer to the level of the beasts that perish, 
and are perfectly indifferent to every thing save the enjoyment, 
or, rather, the gains of the present hour. 

A still more curious instance was mentioned with reference 
to the same province of the Limousin. The narrator observed 
another castle, called Ribeaumont. He sought, in vain, to 
whom this castle formerly belonged. At length he met an old 
peasant, whom he asked if there were any more Ribeaumonts 
remaining in the country ? The reply was in the affirmative. 

" But," said M. J , " every one tells me that there is no 

longer a family of that name, and I have looked in the almanac 
and cannot find it." " That may be," answered the peasant, 
" but if all the almanacs were to say to the contrary, I should 
still say, yes." — " I suppose you must know ! " — " To be sure I 
do. In fact, I am a Ribeaumont myself; and not only so, but 
the head of the family. In 1789 I was sent as the representa- 
tive of the nobility of the Limousin to the States General, and 

at that time I was living in that castle." M. J went with 

the peasant, who was now quite a common-spoken man, without 
the least trace of former refinement, to his cottage, where he 
lived among pigs, &c. What he had said proved to be perfectly 
true. 

The backwardness of the provinces, as compared with the 
capital, exhibits itself in a thousand different ways. Even the 
scientific men, in those benighted regions, rely on works pub- 



CIVILISED AND UNCIVILISED. 159 

lished thirty or forty years ago, and quite obsolete in Paris. 
Booksellers in the country are generally stationers. Authors 
print their own works. Orders sent from Paris are answered 
only in three or four months, or not at all. You write for one 
thing, and they send you another. It is impossible to establish 
connexions with them, except in the very large towns, for the 
sale of new books. There is no curiosity. The whole country 
sleeps in satisfied ignorance. Such were the complaints made 
to me by one who has had experience. " Why do you not 
apply yourself to literature, to studying the history of this part 
of the country, for example ? " inquired a friend of mine of an 
unoccupied, but clever young man. " I should like to do so," 
he replied ; " but I should at once be looked upon as lost. I 
want to marry, and no family would receive me if I applied 
myself to letters ; unless, of course, I achieved great success." 

I have heard many attempts made to calculate the relative 
proportions of the civilised and the uncivilised populations of 
France. It is certain the latter constitute the great majority ; 
whilst the former, unless kept up to a certain mark during the 
time of their studies, or in the exercise of functions requiring 
intellectual exertion, constantly tend to join the inert mass. 
This phenomenon is, perhaps, nowhere else observable to the 
same extent. In other countries the educated classes seem in- 
deed to be gradually increased by new recruits, and to hold the 
ground they have acquired. In France there is little progress 
of this kind. . The exigencies of the country constantly call into 
birth and consume a certain amount of intellectual power and 
knowledge, but the culture is for the most part only external. 
It does not penetrate into the mine. Those who have witnessed 
the extraordinary deterioration in the tone of society, in litera- 
ture, in public spirit, and morality, since Despotism has taken 
charge of all the great business of the country, will easily ad- 
mit the truth of those statements. 



CHAPTER XIL 

Agrjcole Passager— Country Proprietaires— A Student sent to Paris—Division :of 
Property— Struggle For Distinction— Arduous Undertaking— Small means— Career 
of Agricole— His Affairs of the Heart — French Ladies— Passion and Genius— * 
Seeking for Lodgings— -Wilful Poverty— Eeminiscences of Fifine— A Biographer 
— Fifme, what— How Agricole was fitted out— First Day in Paris— His Expenses- 
Sufferings of poor Students— The Poor Bachelor in Paris— His Philosophy and 
Manners — His Resources — Confession of the Poor Bachelor — Expenses of the Day 
—A Cremerie — Playing at Dominoes — Delights of Laziness — Object of Life— Su- 
perstitious Sceptic — Politics of the Poor Bachelor— The Conservative Citizen — M. 
Croquignole— Another Species— Atrocious Morality — Bad Books and Bad men— 
M. Croquignole's Den— A noisy Hotel — Seeing Life, 

The proportion of students born in Paris to those who come 
up from the country is naturally very small. A true Parisian 
is an exception among them. What I am about to relate, 
therefore, of the experience of Agricole Passager, from what I 
have seen, or from what he has over and over repeated to me 
himself, may be extended, making due deductions of what must 
necessarily be individual, to a very large class. From time to 
time, as I proceed, I shall allow my pen to wander at will out 
of the straight path, trusting to its instinct — just as a knight of 
romance occasionally throws the reins upon his horse's neck, 
and wanders through a forest, where he generally meets with 
some beautiful maiden or some hospitable castle. 

Agricole came from the neighbourhood of Poitiers. His 
father was a small proprietaire — not to say landowner, which 
would suggest a false idea. A proprietaire in France may be a 
gentleman or a farmer, or even a common peasant. His estate 



STUDENTS IN THE CAPITAL. 161 

frequently is worthy only the name of an allotment, and he 
ekes out his living by working in neighbouring fields. Many 
of the owners of the vineyards where is grown the Hermitage 
wine are carters or ferrymen. In some provinces these lords of 
the soil have been seen ploughing with their wife yoked by the 
side of a single ox. Pere Passager was a little above this, for 
his land yielded him some three thousand francs a-year (120Z). 
Out of this he supported himself, his wife, three daughters, and 
one son at school, besides M. Agricole, dispatched to Paris to illus- 
trate the family, with the absolute disposal of one thousand 
francs per annum, which reduced his father's income by a 
third. 

I am obliged to keep rigidly to facts, and to coarse, plain infer- 
ences ; which I regret, because the suppression of economical 
details, the forgetfulness of certain recondite rules of morality, 
might enable me to change a mere illustrative narration into a 
real romance. As it is, I must observe that M. Agricole — who 
has, indeed, admitted as much to me — was placed, by this con- 
duct of his father, under a heavy moral obligation to go man- 
fully through his studies, and fit himself, as soon as possible, to 
pass into an independent position, and support himself by his 
own labour. Every franc that he spent represented some pri- 
vation which his family was undergoing for his sake ; and his 
conscience would have been more at ease in after years had he 
always kept his expenses pretty nearly within the limits of ne- 
cessity. On the other hand, what can be more dangerous and 
reprehensible than this system of congregating in one capital 
city the pick of all the youths of the country, at an age when 
temptation is so strong, and under circumstances in which tempta- 
tion cannot be yielded to without a certain amount of dishonesty ? 
I rejoice at the great division of property in France, at the im- 
mense number of small fortunes which it has created ; but it is 
a recognised rule of conduct, that those who possess little must 
not ape the manners and emulate the expenses of those who 



162 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

have much. From certain external causes, this equalisation of 
fortune has not produced its natural effect, and exists unaccom- 
panied by unambitious tastes and simple manners, or is associ- 
ated with black ignorance and stupid undevelopment. The 
youth who can scarcely afford a clean shirt twice a-week are 
tormented by ideas of costly pleasures, and kept constantly on 
the rack by» ambition. There is no adaptation at all of desires 
to possibility. Every soldier, it is said, carries a marshal's baton 
in his knapsack ; every civilian cherishes dreams of luxury, in 
which fine clothes, a carriage, a splendid apartment, rich dinners, 
generous wines, and purchased smiles, are mingled in rare kalei- 
doscopic confusion. It is to be enabled to realise these visions 
that the French youth desire knowledge. Their parents, with 
narrower ambition, are scarcely more reasonable. They have 
read and heard of model young men who have studied for years 
in poverty on bread and water, until their minds have been made 
opulent with ideas of exchangeable value, and all imagine that 
their son — who is, perhaps, wilful, lazy, gluttonous, luxurious, 
vain, or simple — will emulate so good an example, provided 
only he be placed in a position of artificial poverty. Many 
fathers who could afford a handsome allowance purposely send 
their children to struggle with the world on an income which a 
clerk, experienced in want and broken to privation, scarcely finds 
sufficient. The theory may be good, but the result is deplorable. 
Virtue is no common thing. Fifty stumble for one that keeps 
upright. However, in most cases, the sordid condition in which 
students are placed arises from the poverty of the parents, who 
will not keep them to follow the plough, and are proud of their 
craving for glory, distinction, and the pleasures thereon attend- 
ant. The State, however, after all, is chiefly to blame, for it 
holds out unreasonable prospects of employment. Every tenth 
man in France is a soldier or a functionary. 

Agricole, as I have said, was allowed a thousand francs 
a-year: many young students begin their career with less. 



AFFAIRS OF THE HEART. 163 

Honour to them if they obey a genuine impulse, and courage- 
ously go on to the end — not faultless, who can ask that ? — but 
without very serious wandering from the path of duty — without 
wasting many precious years and irredeemable opportunities — 
above all, without allowing their souls to narrow to their cir- 
cumstances in the struggle with want. My friend Agricole 
never pretended to be a model ; but, on the contrary, put him- 
self forward as a warning. He would not, perhaps, have done 
so, had his errors been any more than those which are often 
leniently described as " the follies of youth," whilst, in truth, 
they are positively criminal, though not enumerated in any 
code. 

I see a mark of sceptical interrogation on the face of my 
reader. How can a young man, obliged to maintain a genteel 
appearance, to buy books, to pay for classes, be expected to do 
all this with forty pounds a-year, or less ? He is expected to 
do it ; and when nature has formed him for a student — when 
he is impelled by love of knowledge, or even reasonable 
ambition, instead of being inflated by a boundless aspiration for 
infinite enjoyment — he sometimes does so successfully. 

But in sketching the career of M. Agricole, these matters 
will be explained better than in any other way. He had already 
attained the degree of Bachelor in a provincial college, and 
was sent up to Paris, ostensibly to study the law. He was then 
twenty years of age, or nearly so — filled with hope and ambi- 
tion, and passably innocent of what is called knowledge of the 
world — which means, the experience people get by doing wrong 
and suffering for it. He confessed, however, or invented, certain 
little affairs of the heart, in which a farmer's daughter and a 
widow played the principal figure. Most young Frenchmen 
have a budget of this kind of adventures to tell, generally of so 
disgraceful a nature that I try to believe they are lying, which 
is no doubt often the case. Every one has been the hero of 
some half-dozen seductions, all of elegant and beautiful women. 



164 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

I listen in silence, or profess my incompetence to deal with this 
subject ; because M. de Balzac, who is considered by French 
youth to have unlocked the last cabinet of human nature— to 
know everything about it — informs me, in the course of his 
proof, that it is impossible for any respectable Frenchwoman to 
remain virtuous — that there are about two hundred thousand 
ladies, by their position and manners, worth seducing in France, 
and a million men capable of seducing them. Five to one, and 
each of those five has had at least six " successes ! " I refrain 
from drawing the conclusion of these stupendous statistics. 

Agricole was rather more moderate than the majority, and 
only boasted of two intrigues before he was twenty. I can 
hardly say boasted, however, for he admitted the fact in a tone 
that made me suppose he feared that I should despise him if 
I thought, as I really do, that when he came to Paris he was 
fresh from his mother's side, and knew nothing of intrigue but 
what he had read in the books which had heated his fancy, 
and given him the power of acquiring, or seeming to acquire, 
knowledge that had made his friends, and even his masters, cry 
out that it would be a shame to stifle such a genius in the 
country. The first developments of passion have often been 
mistaken for symptoms of genius. 

On arriving in Paris, M. Agricole, full of the most stoical 
intentions, sought for a room on the sixth or seventh story : he 
would have preferred an eighth if it could have been got. He 
was unsuccessful for some time, and remained at an hotel, where 
he spent seven or eight francs a-day. At length, roused by the 
frightfully rapid dimunition of his funds, he thought it best to 
make up his mind to take a back-room on the fourth story 
in the Rue St. Benoit. He might have gone higher; but 
really the " holes" into which he was shown had no resem- 
blance whatever to the garrets, not described, but illuminated, 
in the songs of Beranger. He did not yet know that those 
dingy places were made poetical by love, and, above all, by 



LOOKING FOR LODGINGS. 165 

memory. He looked for a " mansarde fraichement decoree" a 
theatrical garret, and was shocked by dust and cobwebs. But 
who ever enjoyed the delights of poverty that deliberately con- 
demned himself to them ? Besides, poverty has in reality no 
delights ; it has only compensations — compensations justly re- 
fused to the amateur sufferer. We may remember the time 
when fire was a luxury, and when we have paused to see the 
bright flames leap up, as it were, against the window-panes 
above, in the darkness of the inhospitable street, where the rain 
was sloping before the wind. The moment seems a pleasant 
one now, because the bitter feeling is gone ; but would it not 
have been simply ridiculous if we had put out our fire in order 
to have the pleasure of romantically blowing upon our fingers ? 

Not being able to stomach a cabinet six feet square, across 
which even a decrepit flea might have leaped, Agricole went 
lower down and occupied a large, though bare-looking, room 
on the fourth story. I have never seen more than the window 
of it ; but as we passed through the passage Ste. Marie late at 
night, on our way home from some friend's house, he used to 
stop me, and, pointing up, say regularly in the same tone: 
" That's were I lived when I first knew Fifine." " Indeed ! " I 
would exclaim. Whereupon, with but slight immaterial varia- 
tions, he would tell me his story nearly to the end, and then 
break off, saying, " I have told you this fifty times before." He 
had, but he knew so all along, and only shrank from relating 
the catastrophe. 

He often promised me to write a regular account of his 
life, as materials for use ; and, indeed, began to do so. Cir- 
cumstances prevented him from going on, which is not to be 
regretted ; for, however vivid a talker he might be, he was a 
detestable penman. His style was as dry as if he had really 
drenched his mind with legal knowledge. Besides, he never 
sat down to his desk until he had read several chapters of 
Rousseau's " Confessions ; " and here and there in his pages I 



166 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

found whole fragments stolen bodily, and transported to the 
midst of his own queer diction. What was worse still, he so 
altered and distorted his facts, in order, as he thought, to em- 
bellish them and make himself interesting, that I scarcely recog- 
nised them. I therefore prefer giving an incomplete account, 
that shall be conformable to truth, especially as I have not 
promised any narrative at all of this kind, but profess merely 
to throw down some desultory observations on manners. 

The story of Fifine shall come in further on, if I can find 
room for it. To introduce it here would be beside my purpose, 
for I am going to be very severe and serious if I can, and must 
not relapse into sentiment. Fifine, briefly, was what the 
writers of fiction and comic operas call a grisette — a thing that 
sews on buttons, lives on salad, is a prodigy of fidelity and bad 
spelling, and contrives to be always fresh-looking and smartly 
dressed. Fifine was the ray of sunshine which makes a palace 
of a garret — exactly what Agricole expected to find up-stairs, 
and what he would not have found if he had gone there. It 
would have been, perhaps, better if he had not. 

Medical students are allowed to live in furnished lodgings 
or where they please, but law-students are required to have fur- 
niture of their own. Agricole, therefore, was compelled to buy 
a bedstead and some other necessary articles, which, with his 
extra expenses in the preliminary hotel, materially reduced the 
capital with which he had set out from Poitiers. His mother 
had added a sum from her own private savings, to enable him 
to buy books and shirts withal ; but he soon found that it was 
quite possible to get on without either of these things. Poor 
students have made the discovery before. He was much more 
concerned to learn how he could make the two ends of the 
year meet on his slight pittance without compromising his dig- 
nity, or offending his stomach by resorting to inferior eating- 
houses. The first day after his installation in his new lodging 
he went out with desperately economical intentions; but he 



EXPENSES THE POOR BACHELOR. 167 

ooked into several places, and saw that a)l the table-cloths were 
dirty. He had plenty of time before him to find out the pro- 
per quarters ; so he went to a restaurant at forty sous, and took 
a cup of coffee afterwards — two francs and a-half in all. Then 
he calculated, that at this rate his dinners alone would swallow 
up his entire revenue. Decidedly that day could never be taken 
as a model — it was a day apart — no precedent : on the strength 
of which observation he went into the pit of the " Varieties." 

It was not long before Agricole settled down into the rou- 
tine of a poor student, and chalked out for himself a plan of 
life, which he ought to have kept to. I shall give a state- 
ment, checked both by my own experience and that of others, of 
the expenses which he was necessitated to make. His rent was 
150 francs (61.) per annum ; his dinner came to 1 franc a-day, 
365 francs a-year (say, 14/. 105.) ; his breakfast to five sous 
a-day, or under 41. ; his washing was almost nothing at first, 
for he did most of it himself. It was therefore possible for him 
to live on 24/. sterling ; he had 61. left for firing, candles, and 
petty expenses, and 10/. for the necessary outlay connected 
with his legal education. This existence was, of course, very 
mean, very insufficient, and allowed of no renovations of his ward- 
robe. But others have passed through greater difficulties ; and 
I have heard of one instance in which a genuine student, for 
more than a year, made only one regular meal every other day, 
satisfying himself with two sous worth of bread on the inter- 
vening day. As I write these trivial details, and reflect on the 
sufferings they must represent, I begin to look more leniently 
on the conduct of many of these young men who, dealing every 
day with great ideas — ideas of poetry and luxury — are insen- 
sibly led to abandon their Spartan mode of life, to contract 
debts with the hope of payment, not considering that their 
parents must be the sufferers, and then by degrees to enter 
upon a kind of war with society. 

Perhaps what I am going to say may only show my want 



168 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

of experience in London ; but it seems to me that, though there 
is a great deal of squalid misery apparent, a great deal of gen- 
teel misery carefully concealed, in our capital, we do not know, 
as a class, what I shall call the Poor Bachelor of Paris. That 
strange being is the production of a very peculiar state of 
society, in which contempt of industry, left as a destructive 
legacy by the old noblesse, and unconsciously propagated by 
romance and the drama, is found in curious alliance with many 
democratic features of manners. The Poor Bachelor is innately 
indolent, not with the indolence of the English sluggard, who 
lies a-bed to mid-day, and then remains at home with slippers 
on his feet and a yawn at his mouth, but with a sort of culti- 
vated, elegant indolence, that very much resembles philosophy. 
You cannot condole with him on his poverty, because he makes 
a boast of it. He has nothing, but he desires nothing. Man 
is a ray of sunshine, that is gone when it has shone ; the path 
of life is rugged, let us strew it with flowers ; we can die but 
once, and it is better to die with white hands and rosy finger-nails 
than with horny palms ! These and a thousand other such 
remarks make up the doctrine of the Poor Bachelor. He repels, 
however, the accusation of idleness. He is up betimes in the 
morning, and has walked three times round the garden of the 
Palais Royal before many business people have opened their 
eyes. He punctually reads every line of some favourite jour- 
nal. He is a useful part of the social machinery, because he 
carries about little scraps of news from one place to another, as 
sparrows do bits of stick. He calls on all his friends at regular 
intervals, and is the ornament of some family circle. 

The resources which the Poor Bachelor has at his disposal 
are, of course, various ; but he rarely has more than a thousand 
francs a-year, because if he had he would belong to another 

category. Monsieur F is the extremest case I know of. 

He has precisely 500 francs, or 201. a-year — the produce of a 
small capital placed at good interest in one of the ready-made 



LIFE AT A CREMERIE. 169 

clothes houses, where, I suspect — on this point he is impen- 
etrably discreet — he was once a clerk. I could point out the 
house in which he lives, but have never been asked up-stairs ; 
for it is one of the first rules of conduct in this class not to be 
at home, except in some coffee-house at certain hours of the day.' 

Their room is "a nest," as they call it, to sleep in. F 

tells me, that more than twenty years ago he was fortunate 
enough to find a mansarde for sixty francs a-year. He has re- 
mained in it ever since, and his landlord has refrained from 
raising his rent on the tacit understanding that his tenant shall 
play a game of dominoes with him every Sunday after dinner. 
For this reason the bachelor is missed at his post in the cafe of 
the Rue du Bouloi every seventh evening, and every Monday is 
exposed to the satirical remarks of his cronies, who pretend to 
imagine that he observes the Sabbath ! 

But how is it possible for even an old gentleman to be 
always dressed in garments not very theadbare, to appear 
occasionally in a new hat, to have his silver snuff-box replen- 
ished every morning, and to show a rosy and invariably 
smiling face, on 201. a-year, or 111. 12s. rent deducted? 

M. F 's own account of the matter, which he gave me one 

day that we were alone at the cafe, is as follows : " When I 
have taken my little turn round the garden I slip into a by- 
street, where there is a baker who invariably has my sou loaf 
ready in a corner. With this I go to the cr£merie, or milk- 
shop, and ask for five centimes' worth of milk, which I dilute 
with water, and drink as I eat my bread, and talk to the mis- 
tress of the place about twenty years ago. when she was a 
morsel for a king and I — '■ — But let that pass. [This was said 
with a very eloquent smile.] Your young stomach would not 
be satisfied with this ; but I am then armed for the day. I 
feel light and cheerful ; and as the afternoon advances, begin 
to look forward to the great affair — the important occupation 
of dinner. That meal is my delight. I spare no expense. Let 
9 



170 PURPLE TINTS OP PARIS. 

those who know nothing be attracted by the gilded salons of 
the Palais Royal, and help to pay their extravagant rents. 
Thirty-two sous — two francs for a dinner ! It is monstrous ; 
and what a dinner ! 7" go back to my cr^merie, where I have 
long had the privilege [another smile] of dining. The good 
woman gives me a bowl of soup or plate of beef, and another of 
roast meat, or stewed meat, or vegetables, with fruit or cheese 
for dessert — all for sixteen sous. Do not imagine that I am 
at all favoured in the price ; there are three other customers 
equally well treated : but I flatter myself that my portions are 
a little more copious ; and yet the cremiere makes a fair profit. 
In this way, you see, the two great expenses of the day are pro- 
vided for; and I have 109 francs left. Now I see by your 
face," continued the old gentleman, crossing his legs and stir- 
ring about a piece of sugar in a glass of water, " that you 
are counting up that this leaves me only about six sous a-day for 
washing, tobacco, coffee, expenses, &c. I must, therefore, reveal 
to you the great secret of philosophical life in Paris. My little 
talents of society have procured me friends, who invite me to 
dinner on an average once a-week ; I have some relations, to 
whom I go one other day ; and — I am very lucky at dominoes.'* 

I had already noticed that M. F almost always rose a 

winner, and this admission led me to study more narrowly the 
manners both of himself and his class. With few exceptions, 
it appeared that, instead of philosophically reducing their ex- 
penses to their limited incomes, they sometimes directed their 
activity of mind, which they declined to use in legitimate occu- 
pations, to gaining easy victories at cards or dominoes over less 
experienced players. To a certain extent, therefore, they be- 
come confounded with the individuals of whom I shall have 
presently to speak — the Parasites of the Coffee-houses. 

Many Poor Bachelors, less methodical than my friend 

F , adopt the plan of lying in bed one day and taking a 

tolerably good dinner the next. There seem to be wonderful 



THE POOR BACHELOR. * lTl 

charms in this vegetable kind of life. An instance is mentioned 
of a man who worked like a horse for the first six months of 
the year, in order to be able to do nothing during the remain- 
ing months. All these people deny that they are mentally dis- 
eased, are quite ready to discuss their own conduct, and pose 
you sometimes with the questions, " What is the object of life ? 
Is it to work, or is it to be enabled to enjoy the results of 
work ? " They maintain that their condition, if not one of per- 
fect happiness, is at least nearer happiness than that of those 
poor rich men who, whilst trembling on the borders of the 
grave, are still anxious about their prospects, and will not cease 
from labour for fear of want in the future. There is some truth 

in this, if there can be any truth in selfishness. M. F 

looks upon the whole world as a medium in which his enjoy- 
ments are to take place. "Whether he has any suspicion of 
anything beyond, I know not. If we may believe what he 
says, he "jumps the life to come," and sees no difference be- 
tween his own destiny and that of a dog. However, he has 
some superstitions : — attributed an accident on board a steamer 
from St. Cloud to the presence of a priest ; trembles if salt be 
upset on the table-cloth ; will not give or receive a knife as a 
present ; and is indignant with the clergy who refuse the offices 
of the Church to the impenitent dead ! 

It may easily be imagined that the Poor Bachelor is an un- 
compromising supporter of the existing order of things ; I 
mean of any order of things whilst it exists, except perhaps the 
Republic, which stirs too many questions, makes too much 
noise, and leads to financial embarrassments. The Poor Bache- 
lor lends a willing ear to reports of " spoliation," and trembles 
for the safety of his capital. All emeutes, therefore, find in 
him a pitiless judge. There is blood in his eye when he talks of 
the necessity of repression ; and the excellent man would sacri- 
fice the inhabitants of a whole quarter, rather than be disturbed in 
his daily habits. When mobs come brawling down the street, 



172 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

he goes out and cries " Vive " tlie man or thing popular for the 
time being, telling his friends who remonstrate with him that 
it'is necessary to curry to the rabble, whose victory he always 
thinks to be near at hand ; but he makes up for this base con- 
descension by shaking his cane at the rioters under cover of the 
window-curtains when their shouts are dying away in the dis- 
tance. At the coup de'etat he execrated Louis Napoleon as 
long as the victory seemed doubtful, but now he speaks of him 
with tearful enthusiasm, and, forgetting the spicy stories he 
used to tell about Strasbourg and Boulogne, vows that he has 
faithfully preserved the traditions of the Empire. One day a 
friend reminded him of some dangerous pleasantries of which 
he had formerly been guilty ; his hands trembled, his face turned 
pale, and he said hurriedly, " I don't want to go to Cayenne. 
Another such allusion, and this cafe never sees me more ! " The 
fact is, the Poor Bachelor has no political convictions whatever. 
Let those among the more comfortable who have, blame him. 
He seems to me the type of the Conservative citizen. Were 
there not a vast number of such respectable nullities, how 
should we account for the circumstance, that everything that 
gets power is immediately exalted into a demigod by a crowd 
of persons whose position in life is not changed, who have run 
no danger and can form no hopes, and whose throats are still 
hoarse with applauding the Government that has fallen ? The 
Poor Bachelor voted for Lamartine, voted for Cavaignac, voted 
for the Party of Order, and voted "Yes "in 1851. No success- 
ful adventurer, no patriot, no usurper — no Washington, no 
Robespierre — need despair of receiving his support after he has 
got into place ; but, as cynical M. Croquignole observes, if the 
angel Gabriel were to ask for his vote and influence before that 
indispensable act, he would be received with insult, and looked 
upon as a Socialist or a robber. 

M. Croquignole is another kind of old bachelor — more 
comfortable, and less respectable. He is equally without con- 



M. CROQUIGNOLE AND HIS DISCIPLES. 1*73 

victions, philosophical or religious; but, in addition, he has 
most frightful theories of morals, or, rather, most deplorable 
opinions of human nature. F , as he says, respects some- 
thing, believes in the possibility of female virtue; though 
when he was young but discretion characterises a gal- 
lant man. M. Croquignole believes in nothing : all men are 
rogues ; all women frail. He is a sort of Vautrin in words 5 
and readers of. Balzac are enabled to perceive in what way that 
kind of winter exerts an influence. They give a vocabulary to 
those who already agree with them, but have not the wit to 
express their corrupt ideas. M. Croquignole is a very stupid 
old gentleman ; but, by constant practice, he has acquired the 
art of enunciating his deplorable theories with great effect. A 
young man brought into his society must either despise or fol- 
low his theories. One evening spent in his company is more 
pernicious than the perusal of fifty bad books. Evil doctrines 
in print bewilder more than they seduce ; but the case is other- 
wise when those doctrines are spoken by a real man of flesh. 
and blood, a gray-haired being, respectably dressed, to the ap- 
plause of a select society, with, comic gestures and glistening- 
eyes. M. Croquignole and his fellows — a large class in Paris 
— are influential in forming public opinion. Nothing pleases 
half-educated young men so much as to gather from these 
trumpery philosophers what they look upon as maxims of 
" life." We are all more apt to anticipate the vices than the 
wisdom of age. 

M. Croquignole leads a different kind of life from M. F. . 

No one knows the amount or origin of his income. He has a 
room in an hotel near the Rue Montmartre ; and pays a fixed 
sum for his breakfast and dinner, which he takes at a kind of 
private table d'hote held in the house — fifty sous, I believe, for 
the two. According to his own admission, most of his fellow- 
lodgers are scamps ; but are not all men so ? The landlord has 
recently escaped from prison, where he was put under the accu- 



174 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

sation of perjury — of substituting himself for hire to some idle 
students, and passing examinations for them. He was known 
as Monsieur, which means the person who generally lives with 
Madame, the real head of the establishment, who, if we may 
believe her scandalous lodger, had formerly, &c. &c. I fre- 
quently went to the house to see a Fifth-year Student, who had 
made the Quartier Latin too hot to hold him. Each time I 
heard of some tremendous scene that had taken place. The 
lady on the first floor in the court had attacked the gentleman 
who lived on the opposite side of the passage, because the lady 
who lived on the second floor had won his good graces. There 

had been bloodshed and breaking of furniture. Then M. , 

" the man with the red beard," with whom I had smoked a 
pipe, had turned out to be a robber, and had gone off with a 
variety of watches. After that, the lady who lived on the first 
floor front had been arrested on a terrible accusation. " My 

dear ," said I to my friend, who seemed half inclined to 

stop in the house in order " to study life," " let M. Croquignole 
remain in the world that illustrates his theories. It has already 
injured you sufficiently, when it has brought you to call this 
sort of thing life" Almost by common consent, indeed, that 
phrase, " seeing life," means mixing in discreditable scenes. A 
better education would be to place one's self where only ideas 
of greatness and goodness could be introduced. The mind is 
Chameleon-like in one respect — it receives hues from without. 
But it is unlike in another respect, for it retains them. The 
colour of my mind now is derived from thirty years of impres- 
sions. Will it remain the same in thirty more ? 



CHAPTER XIII. 

Gaf6 of the Eue du Bouloi— Cafes in general— Their Economy and Appearance- 
Waiters— Cockneys abroad again— English and French Soldiers— Furniture of 
Cafes— Articles consumed— Habits of Customers— Beer— Sobriety of the French- 
Instances and Exceptions — Population of the Banlieue — A ferocious Pastry-wo- 
man— Political Workmen— Drunkards' Association— Domino Players— Four ditto 
Gentlemen— The Cafe de la Eegence— Parasites of the Cafes— Their Habits and 
Character— Billiard-playing- -La Poule— Cards— The Point of Honour— Gam- 
bling— Playhouses— Their Eestoration plotted— Frail Health of Morality— How to 
Demoralize a People — Acquaintances in Public Places — Police Agents — Inform- 
ers— Conspiring Spies— The Singing Coffee-houses— Applause forbidden — The Stu- 
dents disobey— Delphine — Songs sung— National Airs suppressed. 

I went first to the cafe of the Rue du Bouloi in company with 
Agricole Passager, who, like the student above-mentioned, had 
thought it wise for a time to avoid his old haunts. There I ob- 
served many new traits. The regular customers were totally 
different from those who frequent the cafes in the Quartier 
Latin. I shall endeavour, from the result of all my experience, 
to give an idea of this kind of life under its general aspects, 
and then return to the students. 

There are many cafes on the Boulevards and in the princi- 
pal streets, which form the lounges of the fashionable, and 
attract especially the attention of strangers. They are elegantly 
fitted-up establishments, quite unlike any thing we have in 
England. Purssell's gives no idea at all, either of their orna- 
ments or of the way in which customers are served. In the 
principal room, behind a handsome mahogany counter adorned 
with vases of flowers, on a raised seat, with her back to a large 



176 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

mirror, sits the mistress of trie place, or of its owner, or simply 
a young woman hired to look beautiful there. An Algerine 
gained a good deal of money by showing his wife and sisters 
in their native costume in this manner. The counter-lady is 
politely saluted by all who enter, and some old gentlemen make 
a point of paying directly to her, in order to have the oppor- 
tunity of disposing of a little compliment. There is an urn 
upon the counter, into which all contributions for the waiters 
are dropped, either by themselves or by the customers. A 
division is made every week, according to some rule agreed 
upon. "Waiters often purchase their places, and generally 
make a good thing of them. An able writer has remarked on 
the injurious effect of the employment of so many thousands of 
young, active men, in duties most of which would be much 
better and much more gracefully performed by women ; and 
maintains that many girls are driven to vice by the effect of 
this competition. The criticism, however, applies with more 
force to the employment of shop-boys, for the labours of a 
waiter at a cafe are very severe. They are constantly running 
rapidly about. It is customary to give one or two sous, accord- 
ing to the amount spent ; and it is a point of politeness, at 
which Cockney giggles immensely, not to put this contribution 
into the waiter's hand, but to place it on a tray. To thrust a sou 
into a man's palm in Paris is considered offensive, as also to 
"chuck" down money upon a counter, whether in cafes or in shops, 

in the off-hand style of our verdant youth. My stout friend , 

passing along the Rue St. Honore, observed a piece of money 
on the pavement, and with really good-humoured intentions, 
but in an insufferably patronizing manner, touched a workman 
on the shoulder with his cane, pointed to it, and went on. The 
workman, who might otherwise have appropriated the treasure- 
trove, was hurt in his dignity, responded by a glance of con- 
tempt, took up the piece, and dropped it into a tray in the 
mouth of a little pug-dog that came round the corner leading 



FURNITURE OF A CAFE. 177 

& blind beggar. It must be confessed that there is a much 
greater delicacy in pecuniary matters among the humble classes 
in Paris than in London ; and, though I detest the odious con- 
duct of the French army of late, I must admit that I have 
never been stopped at night in the street by a soldier holding 
cut his hand and asking for < { twopence to get a pint of beer." 
It is true that the garrison of Paris in 1851 sold itself for a 
petit verve. 

In all but the very meanest cafes, the seats, which run round 
the room, are stuffed or covered with red cloth or plush ; hand- 
some chairs are spread about ; the tables are of marble ; the 
walls are painted and gilded ; brilliant chandeliers hang from 
the roof; and a stove adorned with brass- work occupies the 
centre. A regular cafe has a second room, or series of rooms, 
properly called the estaminet, where there are billiard-tables, 
and in which smoking is allowed. In second-rate establish- 
ments, the cigar, and even the pipe, are admitted everywhere. 

The articles consumed in these cafes are various, but the 
commonest is, of course, that which gives its name to them. A 
-cup of coffee is never heard of, except at breakfast, when it is 
taken with milk. The regular custom is to ask for half a cup, 
tine demie-tasse. The waiter takes care that a good quantity 
of the black coffee shall flow over into the saucer, where it re- 
ceives the name of a 6am de pied, or foot-bath, without which 
the customer would consider himself defrauded. Some will 
tell you, that this is in order that a certain pernicious oil that 
rises to the summit of the coffee may be carried away ; but as 
all Frenchmen drink the foot-bath, the explanation is evidently 
a subterfuge. It is amusing to see Englishmen just arrived 
nudging one another, and pointing out " those fellows drinking 
their slops." Most persons take after their coffee, and some . 
with it, a diminutive glass of brandy, called the petit verve. 
The whole, with a plentiful supply of sugar, costs from five- 
f>ence to sixpence. Some people sit for an hour, and only con- 
-9* 



178 



PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 



sume a glass of sugar and water ; others take what they call a 
grog, or tumbler cf water with a thimblefull of brandy. Ladies 
are treated to a class of drinks which may be included under 
the generic name of sherbets, or sorbets, from the Italian sor- 
betti ; that is to say, syrup of red currants, barley, &c. Of 
late years there has been a great increase in the consumption 
of what is called beer, an odious drink, at from four to six sous 
a bottle, for which our familiar language supplies an appropriate- 
name — "swankey." It is difficult to understand how human 
beings can imbibe this horrid liquid, which donkeys would turn 
from. However, there is a stronger kind of beer, of three dif- 
ferent qualities, made at Lyons, Strasbourg, and Lille. Yet 
even this, though quite as dear, is far inferior to our ale. Por- 
ter may be said to be unknown in France ; the only attempt to 
manufacture it having resulted in the production of some stuff 
like liquorice-water. 

The consumption both of beer and brandy has lately increas- 
ed more rapidly than that of wine, which gives occasion to 
some writers on social statistics to answer the vulgar assertion 
that drunkenness is the cause of misery, and to say that misery 
is the cause of drunkenness ; which seems more likely, as mis- 
ery existed first. However this may be, it is certain that, 
though the French are still comparatively a sober nation, yet 
drunkenness is on the increase. Hazlitt once explained that the 
French do not get drunk often, because they do not wish ever 
" to be unlike themselves." It is fairer to say, that as a nation 
they abhor the bestial state to which drink reduces a man. 
They are, moreover, excessively careful of their health, and car- 
ry their precautions sometimes to a ridiculous degree. When 
they do infringe,, as might be expected, they go to excess. In 
some manufacturing towns there are workmen who spend four 
days out of the week in drinking. At ISTantes there are caba- 
rets where people are allowed to drink wine at so much an 
hour. Of late, the prefects of the departments have been car- 



CABARETS — PEASANTS. 179 

rying on a regular war against the cafes and the cabarets, be- 
cause workmen used to collect there and discuss politics. If 
we might believe the statements in their proclamations, half the 
population spend the greater part of their time in drinking es- 
tablishments. An order has just been issued forbidding school- 
masters to take their meals at cabarets. It would be wrong, 
however, to derive our ideas of the state of France from docu- 
ments of this kind, which there is too much reason to believe 
are intended to cover persecutions against victuallers, who agree 
with their customers in not admiring the present form of gov- 
ernment. The truth is, that the French as a nation are not 
drunkards. At any rate, most classes in Paris are remarkable 
the other way. If you meet, late at night, a fellow rolling to 
and fro, and shouting " Vive VJEmpereur" he is generally from 
the banlieue, or quarters outside the barriers. 

I find that I am too much disposed to imitate the French, 
and speak of the habits of the capital as those of the country. 
The population round Paris is, perhaps, without exception, the 
most brutal and degraded in any country in the world. It 
seems to be in a perpetual state of muzziness from the influ- 
ence of petits verves, which accounts for its thick-voiced enthu- 
siasm in favour of the sword against law. It hates the Pari- 
sians, besides, because they are better dressed, and sometimes 
trespass on their orchards and strawberry-fields. When the 
insurrection of June was defeated, and the fugitives took re- 
fuge in the country, the peasantry turned out and hunted them 
down like wild beasts, killing them in ditches and in woods 
without mercy. The same ferocious character is in part shared 
by the inhabitants of the smaller towns. I was once in a pas- 
trycook's shop at St. Cloud. A young man, heavy-headed with 
drink, began to relate, with various chuckles, how he and some 
companions had taken a prisoner in an insurrection, how they 
determined to shoot him, how he implored for mercy and wept ; 
but in vain. " Ah ! comme gaa du etre drole" — a How funny 



180 JPTJfcPLfi TttfTS OS? PARIS, 

it must have been!" cried the mistress of the establishment, 
clapping her hands with delight, and laughing loudly. 

This, however, is a digression. I was going to say, that the 
workmen who mix in politics, who organise insurrectional com- 
mittees, and who periodically get decimated at the barricades, 
are, unfortunately, in ordinary circumstances, the most quiet in 
Paris, perhaps in the world. They are fanatically attached to 
the idea of Progress. A characteristic anecdote was told me 
the other day. A workman having occasion to call upon a 
fidend of mine was invited by him to trinquer, equivalent to our 
expression " take something." The offer was declined, on the 
plea that that custom belonged to the old world, but that now 
workmen were obliged to show that they belonged to a new 
order of things. He then alluded to the Drunkards' Associa- 
tion, which he had heard had been formed by members of the 
wealthy classes, in order to meet and indulge in this vice in 
company ; but he was not quite sure of its existence. I am 
unaware whether it has been dissolved ; but I have seen in the 
writings of some medical man, that he had often been called in 
to save members of this Association from the consequences of 
their orgies. 

1 am running away from the cafes, however. They are fre- 
quented in part by chance-passengers, in part by people who 
live in the neighbourhood, and, having no society at home, or 
none that pleases them, take this method of spending their lei- 
sure hours. I know a cafe in which four people have met re- 
gularly every evening, for about twelve years, to play their 
game of dominoes. If one is a few minutes behindhand, the 
others cannot conceal their uneasiness, and keep constantly look- 
ing towards the door. They almost always occupy the same 
table, and, indeed, are quite unhappy if when they arrive they 
find their places taken. My attention was drawn to them by a 
request, made very politely, that I would remove to make way 
for them. They evidently waited for my answer with the grea 1 



CAF& 181 

est anxiety, and it was worth while being disturbed ts receive 
their words and looks of gratitude. They seized on their places 
as if they had come into a fortune, and the dominoes at once 
rattled on the table* 

The Cafe de la Regence, recently demolished, was frequent- 1 
ed almost exclusively by chess-players. They used to collect in 
the afternoon and in the evening, almost without missing a day* 
It was amusing to notice the solemnity with which they arrange 
ed the pieces, when they considered themselves about of equal 
strength, and the tone of affected commiseration or undisguis^ 
ed triumph assumed by the victor. I never saw keener and 
more expressive glances of delight than those which M. le Com- 
mandant cast at the bystanders when he was sure of his game* 
One observation I must make, however, which is characteristic 
of national character. An Englishman who offers to play is 
always received with great demonstrations of politeness, even 
with maladroit compliments ; but, once the contest engaged, his 
antagonist amuses himself and the bye-standers by speaking 
with a slight imitation of our atrocious accent, still preserving a 
grave face, and laughing only with his eyes, whilst in general, 
the victim is unconscious of what is going on, or does not choose 
to notice it. 

I have already said that many old bachelors eke out their 
living by small gains at the games permitted in these places* 
There is, besides, a regular class, that may be called the Para- 
sites of the Cafes, who make a living by insinuating themselves 
into the good graces of strangers, or young men just beginning 
life. They are not by any means blacklegs. They render ser- 
vice for service, teaching the various games which a genteel 
person must be acquainted with — as piquet, imperiale, rhams> 
dominoes, billiards, &c. They play sometimes for a little 
money, sometimes only for the articles consumed, and have the 
prudence, generally, to be tolerably moderate. They do not 
wish to gain much at one sitting, but, whilst paying for their 



182 PURPLE TINTS OP PARIS. 

expenses, to make or keep an acquaintance who will invite 
them to breakfast or to dinner in return for their politeness, 
who will take them to the theatre, or, perhaps, if very flush of 
money, make them a present of a ring, or some other trifling 
article which a man of honour may accept. They are generally 
well-dressed, affable men, supplied with anecdotes and witti- 
cisms. When they fall in with a wealthy Englishman anxious 
to be initiated into the mysteries of Paris, they often put aside 
their scruples, and, like the disciples of Mohammed, seem to 
think it lawful to prey upon the infidel. It is true that our 
countrymen, who believe that the moral principle is little de- 
veloped in people who wear hair about their faces, sometimes 
require services in their turn which it is the custom to pay for. 

Perhaps the favourite game in France is billiards. The 
frequenters of the cafes are very expert at it, and often risk 
large sums of money. I know of a common gardener who has 
earned quite a fortune by his skill, and now lives near Meudon 
like a gentleman. The French game is entirely one of cannons. 
All new tables are without pockets ; and the old-fashioned ones 
have been sent into the country. There is scarcely a village in 
the provinces without its table, round which collect most of the 
young men .who have any money to spend on Sunday. 

There is a game called La Poule, played on the old billiard- 
tables in the cafes, in which the balls increase in value as they 
decrease in number. A cautious player may almost gain his 
living by joining in this game. He buys a ball for five sous. 
His object is not to win, but to avoid losing until bolder players, 
who are seeking only for amusement, have been driven out of 
the field. He keeps his ball up against the cushion, until there 
are only two or three competitors left. He then affects to be 
tired, admits his want of skill, is certain that he shall lose, and 
some bold player is always found to buy his chance of winning 
the whole " poule " for two, three, or four francs. Agricole has 
admitted to me that, for weeks together, in certain dark mo- 
ments of his life, he has kept off starvation in this way. 



GAMBLING-HOUSES. 183 

Everybody plays at cards in France, from the marquis down to 
the porter and the chiffonnier. In this case, as in so many others, 
the people take their manners and ideas from the upper classes. 
The point of honour is strictly adhered to by the canaille ; and 
the poorest gambler in the poorest cabaret pays his play-debts, 
whilst his grocer is lying in wait for him with a bill at the 
corner of the street, and the greengrocer's wife is sitting with 
fierce impatience in his porter's lodge. All gambling games 
are forbidden, and a war is earned on against houses in which 
unfashionable people collect to imitate their superiors. For- 
merly, when the friends of divine' right were in power, the 
police used to grant permission to a certain number of ladies of 
quality to keep gambling-houses ; and some of them are said 
to have made as much as twenty thousand francs a-year in this 
way. Gambling-clubs are still tolerated in Paris, under the 
name of Circles. After the 2nd of December, whatever the 
government papers may now say, it was seriously contemplated 
to reopen public gambling-houses, and many old gentlemen 
were quite enthusiastic in their anticipated gratitude. Paris 
would be once more something like what it was in their youth. 
I admit that it was this plan, more than the vigorous manner in 
which the liberties of France, already strangely compromised, 
were overthrown, that first gave me a high opinion of the politi- 
cal abilities of Louis Napoleon. It was impossible to show more 
sagacity, more perfect appreciation of the necessities of despotism. 
If this able man allowed himself to be over-persuaded to refrain 
from his purpose, it was perhaps from the reflection that the 
country was already sufficiently demoralised by the policy pur- 
sued under the Presidency. Morality is a thing of very delicate 
health. It is easy to destroy it by example and precept. What 
undeniable warrant for falsehood, for hypocrisy, for desertion of 
opinion and principle, was afforded by the conduct of the Con- 
stitutional parties in the National Assembly ! It was a singular 
and painful spectacle to behold every victorious party in France 



184 PUfcfLE TINTS Of fcAfelfe. 

in turn become Jesuitical. Day after day the papers that made 
the greatest outcry about the sinfulness of their antagonists) 
contained ingenious pleadings Upon this theme : rules of right 
must give way to necessity. The public mind was prepared by 
audacious sophisms, to look upon perjury as nothing. It is 
really disgraceful to hear men who had sworn to defend the 
Republic, and perseveringly conspired against it, now reproach 
the Imperial Dictator with the violation of his oath. The Or^ 
leanists, who are the most virulent, are expiating a whole career 
of immorality. The ineffaceable stigma of public contempt is 
affixed to every one of them. M. Odillon Barrot, who is sulk- 
ing in some retired place, voted when a member of the Majority 
for the principle of retro-active legislation, which he had always 
condemned in opposition ; and it must not be forgotten that M» 
de Broglie, cited as the model man of his party, once, to please 
a king, developed the doctrine of moral complicity, by which a 
man, whose writings an assassin had read, was condemned as 
an accomplice ! It is needless, however, to enumerate exam- 
ples to show that the project of the new Government to de* 
moralise the people by means of gambling-houses would have 
been an excess of precaution ; because the very fact that it did 
not fall at once with a brand upon its forehead proves that the 
good work was pretty well done to its hand. 

In all countries it is always wise to abstain, as a rule, from 
making acquaintances in public places. In France this rule 
should be most strictly observed, for however respectable a 
casual neighbour may appear, there is always a chance of his 
proving to be a thief, a policeman, or a spy. It is equally dan- 
gerous to meet either of the three. The thief will pick your, 
pocket or lure you into gambling. The police agent has always 
a bunch of moral false keys, by which to get at your political 
opinions, and he will lure you into a conspiracy if he can. The 
art of provoking men to commit crimes in order to have the 
pleasure of punishing them, is carried to a very high degree of 



INFORMERS A TRAP. 185 

perfection in France ; but the public, having been put on its 
guard, is not in such great danger as might at first sight appear. 
I remember that one of our Whig statesmen, who has always 
borne the reputation of a political puritan, once made it a boast 
that he had never, after the fashion of the Tories, employed in- 
formers to excite conspiracies ; and this boast was probably 
taken as a pledge that he would never do so. On the first oc- 
casion, however, in which there was anything like a political 
conspiracy in England whilst that statesman was in power, 
there was a police agent sent amongst the misguided men who 
wanted to get up a trashy imitation of the French revolution, 
and I believe it was clearly proved that the most violent sug- 
gestions came from him. Virtue is good policy, even if it only 
enables us now and then to use the weapons of dishonesty with 
greater effect. It is useful to refer to this circumstance, because 
it teaches us that governments which only represent certain 
classes have ever been, and are in all countries, the same in 
spirit, though they may be more or less checked by public 
opinion. 

A workman once related to me the way in which a police 
agent tried to make an informer of him. He told him to go 
among a certain class and ascertain their opinions, and make a 
list of them, in order that, when necessary, their employers, 
supposed to belong to the democratic party, might know upon 
whom they could depend. The trap was too impudent to be 
successful. A little while after, this same agent was seen ex- 
citing a number of Germans in a cafe to utter revolutionary 
opinions. It was at a time when the Government was endea- 
vouring to drive away all foreign workmen from Paris, under 
pretence that they were dangerous to order, but really to satisfy 
the mean jealousies of a certain class whose votes might be 
useful. My friend whispered a warning to some, but when they 
wished to go away they found the doors already guarded by 
the police, and all were arrested. 



186 PURPLE TINTS OP PARIS. 

Every place of public refreshment or amusement in Paris is 
under very strict police regulations. Throughout the city there 
are what are called Singing Coffee-houses, some of which are 
got up in a very expensive style. In summer, those most fre- 
quented are the open-air ones in the Champs Elysees and near 
other public promenades. That in the Rue Madame consists of 
a vast shed, covering a whole garden, which is filled with small 
tables and seats. The singers occupy an elevated platform bril- 
liantly lighted, with a roof supported by gilded pillars. There 
is no charge for entrance, but everything is dearer than at ordi- 
nary cafes. A large board bears a singular 'inscription, to the 
effect that all noisy applause is forbidden by the police. The 
students and grisettes who frequent the place sometimes choose 
to disobey this order, and pretend, whilst the worst singers are 
performing, to be seized with enthusiastic admiration. It is 
indeed rare that an evening passes without one or two being 
collared and turned out. The police find it difficult to select 
the ringleaders on these occasions, but, as it is necessary to 
pitch upon somebody, generally choose the most inoffensive 
person present. I once saw a ferocious-looking alguazil rush 
upon a meek country visitor, who had evidently not noticed the 
announcement, but had imitated his waggish neighbours for 
fear of being thought wanting in musical appreciation. Despite 
his protestations, he was roughly ejected from the garden. The 
last time I was there, a celebrated young lady, named Delphine, 
kept crowing like a cock all the time ; but when the police 
made towards her she turned up her face, looking so innocent 
and stolid, that they became convinced the real culprit was her 
neighbour, a fat cookmaid, who was quietly discussing a bottle 
of beer and listening in ecstasies to the roulades of pretty Ma- 
dame Piquet. Delphine has long been intimately known by all 
the students of that quarter. 

Formerly national and even republican songs used to be 
sung at these places ; but at present, nothing is authorised but 



WAR FEELING. 187 

comic or sentimental pieces, which have previously been care- 
fully examined by the police. Indecent allusions and immoral 
sentiments are allowed in all places where the public* appreciates 
them ; as, for example, in the goguettes, where the worst class 
of workmen congregate : but the slightest reference to liberty or 
national honour is carefully suppressed. The ingenuity of the 
police in finding or in venting dangerous allusions is remarkable, 
and must be taken as a great compliment to the French people. 
It seems to be imagined that their souls are ready to fire up at 
the contact of generous ideas. The other day, however, war 
being expected to break out, I was present when a scene from 
some opera was sung, in which the words " Aux armes" per- 
petually recurred. They attracted no notice, excited no enthu- 



CHAPTER XIV. 

Further Account of M. Agricold— Poor Fifine— A Visit to Home — A prudent Girl 
— A renewed Acquaintance — The Crernerie — A charming Woman — Fifine comes 
upon the Stage — Her Conversation- A Knot of French People — Madame Adele's 
Shop— A discreet Lady — The Neighbours — Talk of Butter and Cheese — Eggs — 
Stock of the Cremerie — Breakfasts — Fifine and Adule — Philosophy of Females — 
Formation of a Club — Eules and Regulations — Alexis introduced — A New Candi- 
date — M. Petit — A Mysterious Character — Our Manners — Watching aEival — Tom 
Pouce — Ludicrous Simplicity — Blackballing a Beard — The Man who lives upon 
Cremieres — I moralise — The Game of Consequences. 

In entering into some further account of the doings of M. Agricole 
Passager — in order to illustrate the kind of life through which a 
student passes on his way to respectability — I suppose it is 
not necessary forme formally to express my disapproval of many 
things I shall have to relate, or to apologise for being lenient and 
even cheerful in speaking of certain actions which must be theoreti- 
cally blamed. I would rather be accused of laxity than exces- 
sive bitterness, and there is nothing so offensive to me, and to 
many better men, as the ferocious spirit of condemnation, the 
tendency to judge, and judge severely, which I find in persons 
whose chief virtue is gentility, and who would be much at a 
loss, if called upon to show a warrant for their harshness. There 
are some matters, it is true, so obviously blameable that we can 
indulge in the luxury of abuse without danger ; and when I 
come to them, I let off the steam at my ease ; but I cannot 
think any amiable or estimable who, when they are made better 
acquainted with Fifine, and know a little about her trials and 
her position, and the bravery with which she held up her head 



AGRICOLE AND FIFINE. 189 

and picked her way through the slush of life, not caring how 
much of her pretty ankle she showed — I am not at all anxious 
about the opinion of those, I say, who do not give her at least 
two tears for one frown. 

I have already said that I cannot bring together more than 
a few scattered materials for the life of my friend Agricole, who 
could speak the truth and not write it — for he wanted Art. 
"What I am now going to say is nearly as much my story as 
his ; and the great egotistical / will be of constant occurrence. 
This cannot be helped. Besides, there is perhaps no better 
way of describing the state of French society than by narrating a 
few of the scenes in which I have mixed ; carefully avoiding, how- 
ever, to make myself in any way a hero. If I chose but 

this is an unpardonable insinuation ; and I beg the reader to 
consider that nothing has ever happened to me at all. 

Agricole spent his time after the fashion of many students 
of the fourth and fifth year. He did not absolutely neglect his 
lectures, but had several times been rebuffed at examinations. 
Even when I had knowm him but a short time, it seemed pro- 
bable to me that he would remain all his life a student, and 
that, like Lucian's Hermotimus, he would be no wiser at the 
end than at the beginning. His relations with poor Fifine, 
though in part beneficial, were in their general results disastrous. 
Some of his friends thought she was merely an acquaintance, 
whilst others meeting them jogging along the streets arm-in-arm, 
or wandering out in country places, began to look upon her al- 
most as his wife. There was a time when he meant to propose 
marriage — at least he said so — but there was the opposition of 
his parents to fear. As may be supposed, after a year or two 
M. and Madame Passager had heard sad stories of their son, and 
uncomfortable confessions from himself. Once he had been 
competed to vanish from Paris, and retire, as he expressed it, 
"into the bosom of his family." The storm blew over, however, 
and although some small employment was offered to him at 



190 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

Poitiers, the general attraction of the capital and some melan- 
choly letters from Fifine, who said that, in spite of her efforts, 
she could not "suffice for her maintenance," and " might be 
obliged to forget him who was forgetting her," induced him to 
return. 

The greater part of his debts he had " consolidated " — that 
is, in his vocabulary, he had compelled his chief creditors to 
give up all hope of getting their money : — the rest he had paid 
or compounded for. His father, who had inherited some pro- 
perty, was enabled to fit him out again ; and he arrived a se- 
cond time in the capital, instantly bought a silk gown for Fifine, 
took her to the theatre or the ball every evening in the week, 
treated her to sumptuous breakfasts, and, of course, gave festive 
entertainments to his friends. Fifine, however, might, to a cer- 
tain extent, be regarded as his good angel. She checked, in- 
stead of encouraging his extravagance ; and by a variety of 
little manoeuvres, well-known to female diplomatists, contrived 
at last to obtain the control of his purse. Friends of her own 
sex said that her prudence was egotism, that she wanted to in- 
sure her own prospects, and ironically foretold that she would 
one day have " goods under the sun," as they expressed it. Be 
this as it may, after the expansion of extravagance which once 
more did him irreparable injury, Agricole found himself engaged 
in a conflict with a will much more powerful than his own, and 
insensibly put himself under its guidance. 

I had made his acquaintance long before this without know- 
ing anything about Fifine, whose existence he at first kept a 
secret from his most intimate friends, who only began to suspect 
that he worshipped some goddess in secret on finding that he 
was scarcely ever at his room, and that once a letter for him re- 
mained for forty-eight hours in the porter's lodge. It was not 
true, however, that he spent all this time with Fifine, who in 
those days industriously followed her occupation as lingere, and 
nearly supported herself by her own labour. Agricole knocked 



A BEAUTIFUL MILK-WOMAN. 191 

about sometimes at the public libraries in fits of industry ; 
sometimes at various cafes, where he ran up scores, and then 
discovered that he was uncivilly treated. But this was during 
his first campaign. I renewed my relations with him under 
circumstances which led me to obtain a considerable insight 
into the manners, both of Parisian young men and of certain 
portions of the middle classes. 

For some time I used to take my meals at the Palais Royal, 
or at a restaurant in the Passage des Panoramas, according as 
I chose to spend thirty-two sous or two francs for my dinner. 
One day, passing down a street not far from my house, I saw 
Agricole come out of a shop, with arms extended, to embrace 
me. We had not met since his return from the country, and 
of course I could not refuse to step in and share a canetle, or 
bottle of good beer with him. The place was a cremerie, such 

as that at which M. F used to take his meals ; and when 

I saw the mistress of the house, the idea at once struck me that 
there were other reasons besides economy to allure Agricole ; 
for it was evident he was a regular customer. Madame Adele 
— so let us call her — was about thirty years of age, very short 
and very stout, but with one of the finest heads I have ever 
seen — " a head to turn others," said Agricole. She was the 
very type of a Parisian brunette, with features of great regu- 
larity ; eyes not very large, but of powerful expression ; mouth 
exquisitely shaped, though the lips being a trifle too thin, some- 
times when she was off her guard gave her a sharp, vixenish, 
and even avaricious look. She had a good skin, small ears, 
and delicate hands ; knew perfectly how to adapt her costume 
to her shape and her peculiar style of beauty ; and possessed 
all the qualities necessary to make an impression on much less 
impressionable people than Agricole. I communicated my sus- 
picions when Madame Adele, after a gracious reception in the 
back- parlour, went to serve some customers ; but he checked 
me rather hurriedly, saying, " Don't talk in that way before 



192 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

Fifine. I assure you I have no intentions — you are perfectly 
at liberty to pay your court." I did not know then who Fifine 
•was ; but the words were scarcely out of his mouth when a 
small, lively girl, with ordinary features, but healthy and plea- 
sant-looking, came in, fluttering the pink ribbons of her cap, and 
talking loud, as if perfectly at home there. She put on a prim 
expression on seeing a stranger — made as if she would retire — 
but then, taking courage, appropriated a glass, and helped her- 
self to some beer, on the plea that she was dying of thirst. I 
soon understood that this was Agricole's menagere — a word of 
admirable vagueness ; for it may mean anything, from a wife 
to a housekeeper. 

The young girl had something to say, and could not keep 
it in before me. She had been to the theatre the night pre- 
viously with Madame Chose, and had heard a speech that had 
gone to her heart. The heroine of the piece was a grisette, 
who boasted — with truth, said Fifine, her eyes sparkling — that 
she and her sisters took all the upper /ruit — the fine straw- 
berries and blooming peaches — from the basket of Love, leav- 
ing all the refuse to the genteel ladies. We did not appreciate 
the extreme beauty of this saying to the same degree as Fifine. 
Half the expressions that strike us in poetry and romance are 
indebted as much to some adventitious reason, some accidental 
application, as to their intrinsic excellence, for our admiration. 
The author of the claptrap drama which contained this remark 
would have been content with the praises lavished on his genius 
in that back-shop. There was a man who could write; he 
knew all about it. Fifine would have kissed him had he been 
present. "Why ? I could not exactly understand ; for the poor 
girl would have indignantly resented any attempt to rank her 
. among the grisettes, the pre-eminent success of whose charms 
she was so pleased to hear celebrated. Fifine made a just re- 
mark in speaking of the difference between the Grisette and the 
Lorette. The character of the latter was expressed by the 



MANNERS IN PARIS. 193 

anecdote of the well-known Madame D , who, when a 

young man said to her, " I love yon," replied, with an air of 
surprise, " You are, then, very rich ? " The grisette, on the 
contrary, when asked if she loves a person, says, " ISFo ; he is 
ugly," or " Yes ; he is handsome ; " sometimes, " Yes ; he is 
good." Hereupon she looked half-tenderly, half-impudently 
at Agricole, who, indeed, is not remarkable for beauty. Apro- 
pos of the play, we discussed a very difficult subject — whether, 
after a girl had " played tricks to her lover," it was honourable, 
under any circumstances, to take her back. We young men, 
in the joride and requirements of our virtue, of course said that 
it never was : and Fifine observed, that man often enjoyed one 
great pleasure, that of being forgiven ; but that woman only 
knew how delightful it was to forgive. These things were not 
uttered in a solemn, sentimental, tone, but half-seriously, half- 
playfully ; and I could not help wondering to find so much 
sense — ay, and so much good-feeling, too — on those — what 
shall I say ? — those conventionally immoral lips. 

However, I think I shall give a whole chapter to Fifine far- 
ther on, if I can make up my mind to do so without harshly 
condemning her on principles of which she never heard. My 
theme at present is different. I went to glance at the composi- 
tion, the manoeuvres, the diplomacy, the habits and modes of 
thought, the pains and pleasures, the virtues and the vices, of a 
little knot of French people, into the mystery of whose exist- 
ence I penetrated to a great extent. My object in so doing is 
certainly to illustrate the manners of Paris ; but it would be 
wrong to omit saying beforehand that, though the individuals I 
describe are not exceptions, neither are they types. The only 
inference that can fairly be drawn from a few examples must 
bear on the state of manners which renders them possible. It 
will be easy to separate what is personal from what is character- 
istic of classes. On the other hand, for many reasons, I am 
obliged to leave aside some frightful details of corruption. 
10 



194 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

Madame Adele had not been long in that quarter. The 
shop had been previously occupied by a dirty family, who, un- 
der pretence of carrying on business, made it a resort of all the 
idle workmen of the place. One day it was closed, and a week 
afterwards reopened, painted and decorated in a handsome style, 
with Madame Adele behind the counter. Her appearance cre- 
ated quite a sensation in the neighbourhood. All the men ad- 
mired, and all the women hated her, at once. When I began 
to inquire, my tailor said she was charming ; and Madame Jo- 
seph, who had once gone marauding in that direction, assured 
me she was no better than she should be. Curiosity brought 
many customers to the shop, but prudence and jealousy kept 
away a great many more. The most annoying thing was, that 
nobody could learn whether Adele was married or single — 
whether she had taken the business in her own name or in that 
of another — whether she was a person of proper or improper 
conduct. All questions met with evasive answers or silence — 
a case of great suspicion. He who conceals his affairs from 
the inquisitive must be a rogue. Tradesmen's wives, who had 
been "spoken of" for ten years past, turned up their noses at 
xldele ; even " legitimate mistresses " crushed her with their 
contempt. Not a single definite rumour got into circulation, 
but the whole female neighbourhood, by instinct, were led to 
believe that there was some disgraceful story hidden, and that 
a catastrophe would follow in due time. 

A Parisian cremerie has scarcely any counterpart in Lon- 
don. It is sometimes quite an elegant establishment, although 
the principal articles sold are milk, butter, cheese, and eggs. 
Common milk is tolerably cheap in Paris, but the best, impro- 
perly called cream, is dear. Butter, in ordinary years, varies 
according to quality from twenty- four to forty sous a-pound. 
There is an immense variety of cheeses, named from the towns 
and villages that produce them. Roquefort sells at twenty 
pence a-pound ; Gray ere at from sixteen to twenty sous ; other 



THE WAR OF CHEESES. 195 

kinds are not sold by weight, but so much a cheese. An im- 
mense controversy rages on this subject. The French say that 
English cheese is not worth eating, being salt and tasteless ; 
whilst we set down the generality of French cheese as insipid* 
Madame Adele used to treat me as Robinson Crusoe treated 
Friday when trying to make him eat salt, and insult a piece of 
" Cheshire " by practically declaring it uneatable. My friend 

looks upon the French as atheistic, because they have 

not a perfect appreciation of Double Gloucester. All this arises 
from habit. For my part, Roquefort seems to me nearly as 
good as Stilton ; and a Bondon or a Brie is better than ordina- 
ry Chedder. Eggs in Paris are dear, and often bad. When 
called " fresh," they are sometimes charged as much as two- 
pence a-piece. They are eaten either a la coque or boiled, in 
which case the yolk is soaked up by means of long strips of 
bread ; or fried in butter on a tin-plate. Our old system of eat- 
ing boiled eggs with a spoon exposed us to great contempt. 

Besides the articles I have enumerated — all nicely arranged 
in the window, or on marble slabs running round the shop — 
the cremiere sold certain fruits, as apples, pears, and oranges, 
in their season, with various kinds of liqueurs — brandy, cassis 
(made of black currants), anisette, and Jamaica rum, manufac- 
tured in Touraine ; and behind the shop, separated off by a 
glazed partition, was a little parlour with two tables, wherein 
the morning breakfasts, consisting of cafe au lait, bread and 
butter, eggs, omelettes, and even chops and steaks, were served 
up. "Wine and beer, also, were supplied. This was the state 
of things when I first went to the place. The cremerie was 
transformed into a morning eating-house. 

About this time Agricole had not quite taken to live with 
Fifine, although they were nearly always together. The young 
girl, a week or so before, trotting along the pavement with her 
milk-pot in her hand, had noticed the new shop, had gone in, 
bouo-ht a sou's worth, entered into conversation with the crem- 



196 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

i£re, been charmed by her affability, and made her acquaint- 
ance. " Mark me," said Agricole, relating this fact, " if you 
wish to form an opinion of a woman's character, observe how 
she behaves towards persons of her own sex who are prettier 
than herself. If she does not notice their beauty, and is taken 
by their manners, be sure she is a jewel." This is not quite 
true, because I have seen very ugly and very wicked old ladies, 
who declare that they cannot bear any but pretty women. 
Perhaps they have made the same observation as Agricole, and 
are hypocrites. At any rate, Fifine and Adele were soon friends, 
and, from what I can learn, the former spent so much time in 
the shop, that she lost all her customers, and was obliged de- 
finitively to abandon her independent position , and keep house 
for Agricole. As she had been long known in the quarter, her 
protection was of some service to the newly-established creme- 
rie, encouraging the servants of the neighbouring houses to 
deal there, in spite of the opposition of the shopkeepers, who 
long kept up their unaccountable dislike. After this a few of 
the younger women of the neighbourhood, for the sake of socie- 
ty, began to drop in, and so, by degrees, custom increased. 

Agricole found little difficulty in persuading me to take my 
morning meals for some time ^at this new place, and soon ob- 
tained for me an important privilege—that of dining there also. 
We lived well, better and cheaper than we could have done at 
a restaurant, and had the advantage of always seeing the same 
faces. Agricole and another young man, whom he called Tom 
Pouce, employed in one of the Ministries, had preceded me, 
and I was not sorry to hear that they had come to an agree- 
ment that no new person should be admitted to dine without 
their consent. The rule was, that a unanimous vote was ne- 
cessary before any addition to our party could be made. We 
studied, therefore, the characters of those who dropped in at 
breakfast-time ; their names were now and then submitted to 
us by Madame Adele, and we came to a solemn decision. Our 



GUESTS AT TABLE. 197 

verdict was generally negative. The table was only large 
enough for six or seven ; and each guest had a right sometimes 
to bring a friend — generally a lady : so that Agricole was often 
accompanied by Fifine, and Tom Pouce by Honorine, a gen- 
teel-looking person, whom he was courting, and who gained 
her living by teaching languages. By degrees we added to 
our number Guguste, as we called him, a clerk in a bookseller's 
office ; Edouard, a sculptor ; Jules, a little lithographer ; and 
permitted one or two others to take their meals occasionally. 
Although there were some features in this kind of life that I 
regretted, yet, besides that I regarded it as a study of manners, 
let it be confessed that it was not without its fascination. We 
were all young, and in pursuit of knowledge or distinction ; all 
of different characters, but with sufficient sympathies to prevent 
any chance of discord. We came in regularly about six o'clock; 
and, although the dinner-hour was seldom very punctually 
kept, never made any complaint but what was the natural ex- 
halation of a fierce appetite. We had always a good soup, the 
boiled beef, some roast meat or poultry, vegetables, and dessert, 
with wine and bread ad libitum, for from fifteen to twenty 
pence. In a little while, after some opposition from Madame 
Adele, Ave smoked our cigars or pipes ; and often put off 
other engagements to remain and play a game of whist. The 
back-parlour, indeed, became our dining-room and drawing- 
room ; and the mistress of the establishment soon found this to 
be the most profitable part of her business. 

By degrees we got into the habit of calling our society the 
Club sans Gene, or the Club of Easygoers. Alexis, the artist, 
was voted in unanimously when I proposed him, although 
there was sometimes scarcely elbow-room at the table. This 
piece of favouritism brought us into trouble, and was the pri- 
mary cause of the dissolution of the club. Alexis was very glad 
of our company, highly flattered by our reception, but after 
once or twice abstained from presenting himself. The fact is, 



198 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

lie could not afford such an extravagant way of living, and 
hinted in vain that he was ready to execute a splendid full- 
length portrait of the buxom cremiere in return for three months' 
board. Edouard was doing a bust gratis, with one eye twice 
as big as the other. My friend — who, by the way has not yet 
restored my chest of drawers — disappeared once more beneath 
the horizon. We had admitted, however, that there was still a 
place at table, and a new candidate presented himself. This 
was M. Petit, a man with a yellow face and a black beard, who 
described himself as a general broker, and who had suddenly 
begun to spend half the day in the back-parlour. "We always 
maintained, and shall to our dying day, that he was a Jesuit or 
a spy, or a man of easy virtue. The rest of the club took the 
matter up more warmly than I did, and solemnly called upon 
me to join in the opposition to this face and beard. They 
maintained that the Sieur Petit came to the place under fraudu- 
lent pretences — not to eat, but to look at the cremiere ; not as 
a customer, but — the word must out — as a rival. This is the 
most singular part of my narrative, and is, perhaps, more illus- 
trative of the human heart in general than of the French cha- 
racter in particular. All these young men had relations of 
courtship with some dame, more or less pretty, who, now and 
then escaping from any trammels that may have surrounded 
her, came to take her place at our table. They never made 
the slightest attempt, saving in one instance, to treat Madame 
Adele other than as a hostess, who was so pretty that she 
might be called a friend. Beauty, when it does not awe, renders 
one familiar. We were all familiar with Adele, and nothing 
moJe. Yet when this said Petit came, and sat for hours de- 
vouring the cremiere with his eyes — like a serpent trying to 
fascinate a sparrow — the horrid passion of jealousy was roused 
in every breast. I believe there was once an idea of putting- 
ratsbane or some other medicine into his porridge. No one 
attempted to conceal his sentiments. We had respected the 



PHILOSOPHY OF THE FEMALE HEART. 199 

virtue of the cremiere, and so should others. She was part of 
our property, indeed. As long as her behaviour was correct, 
the club would stand ; but afterwards, not. There was some- 
thing naively ridiculous in the way proposed by Tom Pouce to 
protect our hostess from the weakness in which we did not 
believe, but which we suspected — ridiculous, and yet to a cer- 
tain extent, respectable. He developed his philosophy of the 
female heart. Where he got it I don't know; but setting aside 
certain lofty exceptions, what he said was not without likelihood, 
as applied to France. Women were not made for responsibility; 
they seem essentially parasitical and dependent : to leave them, 
therefore, to the protection of their principles, was absurd ; they 
required to be defended in spite of themselves ; and it was our 
duty to see that Aclele had no opportunity of weakness. From 
the very fact that these discussions took place, I should be in- 
clined to say that we were all in love, if I could not answer for 
myself. To be sure, I was there only as a Student of Manners. 

Probably we began to put in practice Tom Pouce's ideas 
before he developed them. Theories are only general state- 
ments of moral and material facts. At any rate, if one of the 
club happened to be present when the obnoxious gentleman 
came in, he obstinately remained to prevent a tete-a-tete, and as 
obstinately refused to enter into conversation. On one occa- 
sion, Agricole went in about mid-day to breakfast, and found M. 
Petit at one table and Tom Pouce at another. 

"Thank Heaven," whispered the latter, "that you have 
come ! I have been waiting here these three hours instead of 
going to the Ministry, and the scoundrel won't move." So 
saying he went out, and Agricole remained reading a novel 
until three o'clock. Still the imperturbable Petit held good ; 
and the sentinel was beginning to lose patience when Guguste 
came to the rescue. He remained till six, when we all assem- 
bled, and his report was given. It was as follows: — "The 
fellow has whispered to her only once, but I overheard him. 



200 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

He said, ' Can I never see you alone ?'" We sat down to din- 
ner, squaring our elbows. The intruder was still there, and 
ventured to say, " I suppose there is no place for me ? " Adele 
looked imploringly at us, but we kept our eyes fixed on our 
plates, and she was obliged to answer, " No, not to-day." He 
went to dine at a place nearly opposite, but was back again in 
half an hour. Most probably he would have remained until 
midnight, had we not known that he could not stand tobacco ; 
so we filled our pipes, and soon smoked him out. A hornet's 
nest would not have stood it. We ourselves had scarcely 
breath for the cheer of ecstasy which greeted his retreat. 
Adele laughed, and yet was angry. She explained to us that 
this Petit was one of her best customers : but we replied, " Is 
he better than us all put together % We can't abide him. He 
spoils our digestion ; and he is evidently a Jesuit, or worse, if 
worse can be." Then she adroitly insinuated that the stranger 
was as good a Republican as any of us — that he ardently desired 
to join our club — that he had spoken very favourably of our 
personal appearance and of our intellect. We smiled gra- 
ciously, but remained obdurate. The compliments were ac- 
ceptable, but not the man. We felt that our Ideal Mistress 
was slipping through our fingers — that the ' black beard and 
cadaverous face were considered handsome — and, above all, 
that M. Petit had produced the impression that he was well to 
do. It could not be concealed from us that the pretty brunette, 
who talked sometimes so romantically, was keener than we 
might have wished in money matters ; and the idea actually 
struck us, that our society was less agreeable than our purses. 
A crisis evidently was approaching ; strong measures became 
necessary. 

Several of the members of the club had offered their ser- 
vices to the hostess in various ways, for she was most unac- 
countably deficient in assistance. True, there was a regular 
succession of bonnes, or servant-maids, but they rarely stopped 



M. PETIT, THE BLACK-BEARD. 201 

more than a week or two ; which seemed astonishing, taking 
into account Adele's angelic temper and perpetual smile. Fi- 
fine, accordingly, sometimes kept the counter ; Guguste put 
the wine and beer in bottle ; and Agricole took charge of the 
accounts. We commissioned the last, accordingly, at once to 
examine into the state of M. Petit's payments, and the result 
was, that he had already run. up a bill of a hundred and eighty 
francs. " I now know exactly to what class he belongs," said 
Agricole. " He lives upon cremieres. There is a set of fellows 
who go about in this way preying upon single women in busi- 
ness. I remember some months ago to have seen this Petit 
hovering about a shop in the Kue de Seine." These facts were 
duly mentioned, but seemed to produce no effect, except that 
the stranger ceased to endeavour to force himself into our club, 
and contented himself with sitting in a white paletot for about 
six hours every day in the parlour ; thus putting a check upon 
our conversation, and damping our spirits. 

I have perhaps extended rather too much upon these remi- 
niscences, forgetting that my principal purpose is to illustrate 
the state of manners in one section of society. However, what 
I have said is not without its significance. Here was a knot of 
young men, all occupying positions of considerable respectability 
— students, artists, clerks in government offices — making a 
home of a butter-woman's shop ; interesting themselves in her 
affairs ; setting up, wfth more or less simplicity, as knights- 
errant of her virtue ; associating necessarily with her friends, 
even with housemaids of the neighbourhood, whose custom was 
valuable, and whom curiosity brought in when the shop was 
left dark, and the parlour alone was lighted ; with her parents, 
who from time to time came to see her ; — and all this without 
knowing or caring who she was, and without thinking in any 
case that they were compromising their dignity ! It was a 
dangerous " Game of Consequences." Of course, / can shelter 
myself under my character of Observer, and was indeed not 
10* ' 



202 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

drawn away from other occupations ; but Tom Pouce yielded 
to the fascinations of the club to such an extent, that he was 
once on the point of losing his place in the Ministry ; Edouard 
failed when he competed for an academical prize ; Master Jules 
the lithographer, ran up a score which he could not pay ; Agri- 
cole had an additional excuse for idleness ; and poor Fifine was 
induced to give up the inestimable habit of work, and to place 
herself in a position in which the caprice of a young man, who 
had other objects and duties in life, alone stood between her 
and misery or vice. 



CHAPTER XV. 



The Brune Therese— An Arrival— M. X , a new Clubbist— Story of Madame 

A dele— Theory of Marriage— An Ideal— Political Economy— Early Marriages- 
Polygamy— The " Mistress " — Motives of "Women— English Women— "Why Girls 
go astray— Schmidt— The Infant Adele— The Blood— A Semi-adoption— Pride 
must have a fell— A Marriage de Convenance — Tradesmen's "Wives— "Why M 
X sought a Mistress— Conjugal Fidelity— Conflicting Passions— Life a Con- 
test—Virtue in France— Lax tone of Morality — Alexandre Dumas — Details of an 
Intrigue— French "Wives— Severity of the Law — Hide-and-Seek Life— Its Conclu- 
sion—The Cigar-shop— Frontier-ground— The Students and the Middle Classes- 
Public Characters— Political Immorality— Yillanous Theories— Progress of Virtue 
in Free States— "Women of Nations we hate— Marie Antoinette and the Empress 
Eugenie. 

Many other odd things happened at the cremerie, the chro- 
nology of which I begin to forget. For example, I am not 
quite sure that Adele had not related to me a great part of her 
story before I knew anything about her actual position. This, 
however, is immaterial. One evening we had just dined, and 
our hostess, who had pledged us several times, was warbling 
her characteristic ditty, that relates how the Brune Therese 
was seduced by the promise of fine clothes and a merry life, 
when suddenly the door opened, and in walked a short, stout 
old gentleman, youthfully dressed, with a red face and negro 
lips, who at once asserted the position of master of the house, 
by going up, after politely saluting the company, and kissing 
the cheek that had flushed crimson at his appearance. Glances 
of intelligence went round the table. We did not know 
whether this arrival would be a new source of difficulties or 



204 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

would lead to the stability of the club. Somebody whispered, 
" 'Tis her husband ; " but without meaning exactly to be so 
definite. The old gentleman seemed ill at ease, bustled about 
a little, and then disappeared into a back room. It was evident 
by this time that the new-comer did not quite approve of the 
extension of Adele's business. We could see him peeping from 
behind the curtain of the glass-door, with that foolish face of 
inquisitiveness which eaves-droppers, who fancy they are not 
observed, put on. We afterwards learned that his first impulse 
was to request the club to find a place of meeting elsewhere ; 
but he soon saw that we were not very dangerous people, and 
that our departure would change a profitable business into a 
losing one. How many of our impulses are checked by such 

vile considerations ! M. X , however, having made up his 

mind, behaved in a very easy, gentlemanly way, and on that 
and other occasions joined the sittings of the club, of which he 
became a member dejure, and proved quite a valuable addition. 
He was a man of great experience of the world, considerable 
knowledge, with a certain pedantic elegance in his manner, 
that was far from unpleasing, and we soon found that he occu- 
pied a very remarkable position in society. Habit induced us 
to continue our meetings some time after this discovery ; but 
we had lost the principal cause of attraction, and by degrees 
the club broke up : not, however, before we had learned the 
whole mystery of this establishment. It is unnecessary to give 
every detail ; but as from peculiar circumstances, and from the 
inspection of documents, I became acquainted with the whole 
story of Madame Adele, I shall relate some features of it, pre- 
mising that M. X may be taken as a type, both in con- 
struction of mind and in ideas of morality, of that great class 
which was created or rather corrupted, if we may believe French 
writers, by the Government of July. 

It is difficult to give a proper idea of the character and 
modes of thought of a nation without discussing, as far as 



POLITICAL ECONOMY. 205 

decorum will permit, the unlawful relations of the sexes. We 
may always judge of the level to which civilisation has risen or 
fallen in any country, by the amount of divergence that exists 
in it from the theoretical purity of the institution of marriage. 
If we could find a nation in which, at an earlier period of life, 
young men were encouraged by laws and manners to take unto 
themselves a wife corresponding in station — or, at least, in 
education — with themselves, and sufficiently different in age to 
allow, under the supposition of long life, the two to decay sim- 
ultaneously, and in which the duties of this union were faithfully 
observed, we should find a nation in which legislation would 
have little to do, and in which all political and social problems 
would be solved without difficulty. This, however, is not the 
ideal which reformers in these times pursue. The best-inten- 
tioned men, not finding in their speculations any way of pro- 
viding for the natural increase of the human species, frightened 
by the prospect of superabundant population, can think of no- 
thing better to recommend than the prolongation of youth 
almost beyond the confines of the period of manhood. In this 
way possible populations are removed from the world, and there 
are more prizes in the social lottery for those whose existence is 
admitted. Having come to this great conclusion, political econ- 
omy ought to abdicate. It has reduced itself to absurdity. 
There is no difference between the results of its teaching and 
the dictates of individual egotism, which have led to the present 
state of morals and manners in France. The rigid deduction 
from its doctrines would, indeed, be infanticide — the flowery 
cemeteries of Marcus, or the Chinese system of exposure. We 
have heard little of these theories of late, because a very slight 
demand for labour in another part of the world has created 
alarm lest hands should be wanting at the plough or the spin- 
dle ; and a minister has been compelled to fall back on the 
" productive " powers of the western counties. I still observe, 
however, great praises bestowed on the late marriages in Swit- 



206 PURPLE TINTS OP PARIS. 

zerland and France ; but in the former country there are causes 
at work, and guarantees existing, which could not be found in 
more crowded civilisations ; and in the latter I can venture to 
say, that, among the many classes in which circumstances are 
not opposed, there is scarcely a single man, who, before he be- 
comes the head of a family, has not formed some unrecognised 
union, or, still worse, has not been the hero of one of those 
intrigues in which, according to the new school of novelists, 
true passion can alone develope itself. 

As might be expected, habits acquired in youth, laxity of 
opinion not combated by any prevalent system of morality, are 
hard to be thrown aside ; and therefore it is too true that many 
married men practise, with little disguise, an almost oriental 
system of polygamy, although the tone of society, which in 
this is rather hypocritical than rigid, requires certain bounds to 
be kept. The code itself is very severe on cases in which the 
conjugal dwelling is turned into a harem ; and it is considered, 
at any rate, want of taste to appear in certain public places 
with an unauthorised companion. Beyond these limits neither 
the law nor opinion presumes to interfere. I have no doubt 
that, in England, concealed in. obedience to a high tone of mo- 
rality existing in our society, which cannot be denied, and which 
forms the -true palladium of our civilisation, many things more 
or less criminal are done that might come under the category 
of which I am speaking. But at any rate we need not, in writ- 
ing of English manners, unless from choice, treat of any class 
which stands, no matter under what new conditions, in the 
same relation to a family as the handmaidens of the East. 

When the word " mistress " was used by the old poets and 
romancers, it was not always in the same sense as at present in 
France. It is now the feminine of lover, and the world does 
not inquire into the morality of such relations. The great 
euthanasia of a mistress in France who does not choose to be- 
come a lorette, and who cannot aspire to marriage, is to be 



STORY OF ADELE. 20*7 

" established," as they describe it ; that is to say, be put in the 
way of gaining her living in business. Of the motives by 
which they are led to form unlawful liaisons, I shall speak in 
another place, but they are rarely influenced by what they call 
" passion ; " thus desecrating and confining the meaning of a 
word which belongs to poetry. They have invented — and this 
remark has a wider range of application — a false thing called 
sentiment, which excludes all bewilderment and impulse, and is 
perfectly compatible with interest and calculation. Sentiment 
is love tied by a string, and taught to flutter where its owner 
bids it. A Frenchwoman feels indignant at the supposition 
that she has been led away only for the reasons that might ex- 
cuse her in the eyes of men. She says that her object was to 
ensure her future ; that she could not earn sufficient to main- 
tain herself; and she knows that these admissions will be elo- 
quent with such of her own sex as have fought the fight of 
poverty, and have not within them that spiritual enthusiasm 
which gives so many of our English daughters the constancy 
in prolonged suffering, which is superior to the convulsive and 
almost diseased perseverance of the martyr at the stake. I 
believe that the French girl, when she goes astray, has little 
consciousness of guilt ; and, indeed, after she has surmounted 
the shame which she at first feels in deference to public opinion, 
and in obedience to certain hints that come uncalled for from 
the depths of her nature, she easily adapts herself to her new 
position, and behaves herself with an amount of modesty and 
decorum that suggests the idea of hypocrisy to Englishmen, 
and drives moralists to despair. However, in most or many 
cases, the sequel proves that law-givers, and philosophers, and 
religions, have not laid down rules in vain ; for when the secret 
hope, that enables these unhappy women to preserve compara- 
tive purity of manners, is foiled — when they despair of entering, 
after their circuitous course, the bounds of legal life by marriage 
— their courage often fails them ; they begin to pursue near 



208 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

objects — become less scrupulous as to means — look upon them- 
selves as entitled to take care of their own fortune in their own 
way — discard old relations — form new ones under condi- 
tions less and less strict — and concentrate, unless they fall to 
a level where we cannot here follow them, all their energies 
to acquiring something like an independent position in thi £ 
world. 

After the peace of 1815, an Alsatian, named Schmidt, who 
had served in the Imperial army, not as a fighting-man, but as 
a shoemaker attached to one of the regiments, came to Paris, 
and formed an acquaintance with a woman of considerable per- 
sonal attractions, who enjoyed the advantage of some protection, 
into which it is not necessary to inquire. He married her, and 
set up in his old trade ; whilst she, with characteristic prudence, 
laid by the income she received to form a resource when re- 
spectable age came upon her, and returned to her former 
occupation as a washerwoman, from which a brilliant episode 
had removed her. The fruit of this union was, in the first 
place, a daughter, whom they named Adele. The infant, ac- 
cording to report, which I can well believe, was a prodigy of 
loveliness. It became quite celebrated in the neighbourhood ; 
and a retired opera-dancer, who had seen the mother in a dif- 
ferent sphere, suggested, when the cradle had scarcely been 
vacated, that the child ought to be brought up for the stage. 
A singular fatality seems, indeed, to bring one generation un- 
der the evil auspices of its predecessor. 

As early as the age of six, Adele began to take lessons in 
dancing ; and already at that time ideas of pleasure and a love 
of luxury were introduced into her mind. It is in those early 
years that our forms of thought are often acquired, so that, 
when we find them in our minds, we fancy them to be inherited, 
not remembering whence they came. Adele used to maintain 
that* she was born with the love of luxury — with a taste for a 
brilliant existence — with theatrical tendencies, and opera moral- 



IDEAL OF MARRIAGE. 209 

ity. She laid everything to her blood ; and, indeed, this inno- 
cent and stupid fluid is made to answer among the vulgar in 
all countries for the greater part of their faults, as for half their 
diseases. 

Adele's theatrical career, however, was cut short ; but not 
before it had time to influence her fortunes. A pious old lady 
— a living rosary, as she was ungratefully called — who had 
consented to stand as her godmother, desiring to rescue her 
from what she said would be inevitable ruin, promised to adopt 
the girl on condition that the parents allowed her to be taken 
into the country. Possibly the old lady only sought for a com- 
panion, and was very indifferent about Adele's future prospects. 
She kept her for many years in a state of comparative opulence 
— had her taught several accomplishments — accustomed her to 
soft living — and then died, without leaving her protegie, who 
was about thirteen years old, the slightest provision. Such inju- 
dicious semi-adoptions are frequent in all countries. Adele's 
parents for a time recurred to the old plan of educating her for 
the stage ; but they were less at their ease than formerly — the 
mother's protection had ceased — they had speculated greedily 
in some enterprise, and lost — their family had increased — and 
so, at the age of fourteen, Mademoiselle Adele, after a good 
deal of crying and a little beating, consented to spoil her pretty 
hands by assisting in the abominable occupation of washing. 
Here was a fall to her pride ! She devoured her vexation in 
secret ; and, if we may believe her own statements, thus early 
looked forward to rebellion. 

It is not necessary to expose all the little peccadilloes of 
early life, the small episodes by which an ambitious young girl 
proves beyond a doubt that her intention is not to remain in 
the humble rank of life to which her parents would reduce her. 
Before Adele was seventeen they found a husband for her, far 
above what could reasonably have been expected, and yet not 
quite capable of satisfying all her longings for luxury. He was 



210 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

in business, and seems to have chosen her partly from mere 
caprice, partly because her beauty would adorn his shop and 
please his customers. In France it is the habit for the wife of 
a tradesman, instead of performing the ordinary duties of the 
mother of a family, to transact most of his affairs in which any- 
thing like diplomacy, or anything that requires instruction, is 
necessary. She does his correspondence, keeps his accounts, 
calls upon the principal people he deals with, and acts as the 
cashier in almost every case. This it is that gives most of the 
Parisian women of the bourgeois class that sharp and eager 
look, which is the peculiarity of the miser, and which accurately 
represents their state of mind. There is no person so keen, so 
hard, so unmerciful, in money matters, as the Parisian shop- 
keeper's wife. It is she that keeps him in the ways of an 
economy that easily descends to parsimony ; it is she that pre- 
vents him running risks of loss by giving credit ; and it is she 
who urges him to persecute unfortunate debtors, and pursue 
them even to prison. Any one who looks at her countenance, 
and studies her vocabulary, may be convinced, without special 
instances, that this is a true picture. I may mention, however, 
that the greater part of the fraudulent bankruptcies that take 
place are known to be suggested and managed by women. 

M. X was a merchant of considerable wealth. He 

was a widower with one son, and had determined not to marry 
again, in order that his property might go intact to his heir. 
Naturally, therefore, he looked out for a mistress ; and was led 
by circumstances to fix upon the lady whom I shall still call 
Madame A dele. The fact of her being married was rather an 
inducement than otherwise. It is absurd and monstrous to 
believe or say, as some English writers have done, that there is 
no such thing as conjugal fidelity in France. To contradict 
this assertion it is not necessary to have had any personal expe- 
rience, or any acquaintance with the literature and history of the 
country. The simple fact that France still exists as a nation, is 



CONJUGAL VIRTUE IN FRANCE. 211 

sufficient to enable us to assert, that there, as elsewhere, human 
nature developes itself in multiple forms, and that examples of 
every virtue as of every vice are to be found. The people that 
could produce no instances of conjugal fidelity would belong to 
a different species, and would not be amenable to the same 
moral laws as others. We could not apply to them any of our 
standards, and should be compelled to treat of their manners as 
we do of those of deer or bees, without either approbation or 
reprobation. 

It is a fault into which superficial writers easily fall, to look 
upon nations and individuals as possessed of certain differential 
qualities, according to which they do thus and thus; whereas 
we are all capable of the same errors, and are all furnished with 
the same good instincts. Every man may be a murderer, and 
every man may be a slave. The conflict of principles in this 
world is not carried on between man and man, but between 
passion and passion ; and the whole history of the whole human 
species is epitomised in the career of one of its members, now 
seeking pleasure, now fascinated by virtue, now yielding to the 
dictates of interest, now indulging in the luxury of self-sacrifice, 
now cowering beneath the frown of power, now following the 
beck of liberty, now led away, in short, by material impulses, 
now obeying spiritual calls, stumbling at times, at times rising 
erect, struggling onwards, and by turns deserving of the extre- 
mity of contempt or of dithyrambic praise. Many moralists 
who have seen only one of these two aspects have ventured to 
say, that all women are courtesans by nature, taking half a 
truth for the whole truth ; or, perhaps, in order to indulge in 
the epigrammatic insult of which roues are so fond, wilfully 
omitting to say that all women are likewise capable of the sanc- 
tity of virtue. I have often heard great indignation expressed 
by virtuous matrons at the idea that it could be possible they 
should be unchaste ; but if it is not possible, there is no merit, 
nor does blame attach to others who pursue a different but 



212 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

equally predestined career. In this, as in other cases, life is a 
contest; but it is highly immoral to maintain, as some do, 
that any family of the human race can be so under the 
dominion of Circumstance, "that unspi ritual god," that all its 
members, or all but exceptions, must necessarily be found 
without the limits of any of the great laws to which we are all 
responsible. We find, therefore, that in France, as elsewhere, 
there are vast numbers of families in which all the conditions 
under which that institution exists are observed. Statistics are 
impossible ; testimony 'is of little value; although old residents 
in France have spoken to me with scorn when I have asked 
their opinion on this matter. According to the position they 
have accidentally occupied, they maintain that virtue is the 
rule, or that virtue is common ; but no one who has opportu- 
nities of judging, except professional satirists, maintains the 
view against which I argue. Its professors are slightly-tra- 
velled, or quite untravelled people, who land in France believing 
that they have only to throw the handkerchief. A week or so 
teaches them a little humility, and in a few months they are 
ready to witness against their former selves. But it is not 
necessary to go to scattered sources of information ; for I be- 
lieve it will be admitted, that if the laws of marriage were 
universally disregarded, not only would language and forms of 
thought be rapidly changed, but family life, without which 
civilisation cannot exist, would be discontinued, and the race 
itself would soon disappear. 

Having said this much, I am entitled to observe that — argu- 
ing from the tone of literature, from facts occasionally made 
public, and from what I have seen and heard — there is in France 
much less respect for the institution of marriage than in Eng- 
land, much greater laxity of practice, and a strong tendency to 
look upon infidelity with a lenient eye. I believe it would be 
impossible in England for a writer (in the " Times," for example,) 
to say, speaking of his life some twenty years back, " At that 



A DISGRACEFUL AFFAIR. 213 

time I was in love with a married woman, whose husband was 
an officer in the army. I heard that he was about to obtain 
leave of absence, and I went in a transport of jealousy, and per- 
suaded a person employed in the Ministry of War to tear up 
the despatch containing the leave." This is an abridged state- 
ment of what M. Alexandre Dumas has recently published in 
the " Presse ; " and as it has passed without observation, it is 
fair to say, that a large portion of the French public would hear, 
without the slightest astonishment and scarcely with blame, 

what I am about to relate of the doings of M. X . 

I rather shrink from the details of this corrupt transaction. 
The object of M. X was not a passing intrigue, but a per- 
manent liaison. He wished to detach Madame Adele from 
her husband ; and his first step was to find out Madame Schmidt, 
the mother, and to engage, provided success attended his efforts, 
to pay her an annual stipend. The idea of comparative indepen- 
dence thus suggested was too fascinating to resist. The main object 
of the conspiracy was to bring about a legal separation between 
Madame Adele and her husband. This man, though he appears 
to have been an infamous character, was not disposed to make 
a disgraceful bargain. It was necessary, therefore, to compel his 
consent ; and as it was discovered or suspected that he had an in- 
trigue with a young woman employed as housekeeper, which 

is a delinquency foreseen and punished by the law, M. X 

set his agents to work to find proofs of this fact. But Madame 
Adele, although quite willing to intrigue, would not, at first, consent 
to leave her family, for she had a daughter ; and, therefore, for 
some time gave no assistance to the endeavours made to entrap 
her husband. The method of attack, therefore, was changed, 

and X did his best to prove to the husband that his wife 

was false. The man stormed and threatened ; but X had, 

in the meantime, advanced him money on bills, and spoke of 
arrest. Dreadful scenes ensued, and Adele, after having been 
often beaten and threatened with death, at length ran away. 



214 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

A Frenchwoman is rarely induced to take this step. Elope- 
ments are much less common in France than in England. One 
reason is a strong family feeling, which seems to exist irrespec- 
tive of conjugal fidelity. A wife who will admit that she has 
deceived her husband will indignantly reject the idea of running 
away from him and her children, and will tell you that such an 
act would be " dishonourable." She looks upon herself some- 
thing of the light of a partner in a commercial concern, and, 
though she may have one or more lovers, will fight hard to pre- 
serve her husband's reputation. Nothing offends her so much 
as an insult offered to " ce pauvre hommeV We cannot under- 
stand this in England, where women are more virtuous, more 
impulsive, and more sentimental, and where the idea of chastity 
is the central one in their mind ; which being removed, all 
others fall into disorder. From what I have observed, there 
exists something like the French mode of thinking amongst 
our lower classes ; but in genteel society, if an intrigue is not 
followed by an elopement, it is seldom the fault of the woman, 
and must be attributed to the prudence or selfishness of the 
man. 

In France there is another reason which withholds women 
from leaving their families ; namely, the severity of the laws. 
The abominable system of granting pecuniary damages is un- 
known, but infidelity is punished by imprisonment. The seducer 
himself may be imprisoned, but not without a kind of proof 
very difficult to be obtained. A husband is obliged to obtain 
information of some rendezvous, and to come with a Commissary 
of Police, and break open the doors ; but this conduct is con- 
sidered highly ungenteel, and is only resorted to by common- 
place people. In the case of the wife the proof is easier, and 
the fact of leaving the conjugal roof is sufficient. The husband 
then becomes, as it were, the gaoler of his wife, and she may be 
sent to prison for a term not exceeding three years ; but he has 
the privilege of procuring her liberty by agreeing to take her 



CATASTROPHE OF AN INTRIGUE. 215 

back. I have heard of instances in which, after one escapade 
of this kind, a wife has returned penitent to her family, and has 
never afterwards given cause for complaint. 

It is unnecessary to follow Madame Adele into the hide- 
and-seek kind of life to which she was now condemned. She 
had, at the same time, to conceal herself from her husband, 

who did not wish to take her back, but simply to get M. X 

into his power, and to prevent the son of her seducer from 
knowing of her existence. She spent many years in a miser- 
able way, passing from lodging to lodging, not without giving 
her protector cause of jealousy, and at length began to think of 
making a provision for the future. Her object was not accom- 
plished without difficulty ; because, in the first place, there being 
no recognised separation, she could not legally possess any pro- 
perty in her own name, and because M. X , with not unjus- 
tifiable precaution, wished to keep her in his power. Though 
wealthy, moreover, he was not inclined to make money sacrifices ; 
and when, at our last interview, he calmly related the most dis- 
graceful parts of these transactions, said that he " wished to be 
loved for himself," — the common delusion of ancient rakes. At 
length, however, Adele persuaded him to set her up in business 
in a distant quarter, and to give her some papers, which she did 
not know were perfectly valueless except as means of intimi- 
dation, recognising her right of possession. This done, he was 
called away by his affairs to some foreign country, and thus 
gave an opportunity for the . formation of the club, the history 
of which I have related. 

We only learned these things piecemeal ; and, indeed, it 
was not until an event occurred that led to the disappearance of 
the crernerie that I became acquainted with all the details. I 
have suppressed many circumstances, and slightly touched upon 
others ; for 'my object is rather, as I have said, to give some 
idea of the kind of people we may meet with by burrowing be- 
neath the surface of society in Paris, than to construct a complete 



216 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

narrative. Perhaps if I had told everything to my readers 
exactly in the words of the note which is now before me, and in 
which I have put down all incidents with legal precision, I might 
have excited the morbid interest which waits on a trial at the Old 
Bailey ; but I have said enough for my purpose, and shall merely 
add, that, after having been some time in disgrace on account of 
the persevering Petit, Madame Adele is again under the pro- 
tection of M. X , who " comes of a forgiving kind ; " and 

that if any of my readers go into a certain cigar-shop some- 
where between the Madeleine and the Place de la Bastile, they 
will see her behind the counter. She has reached the height of 
her ambition. I may here observe, that a tobacconist in Paris 
is almost an official. The place, at any rate, is in the gift of 
Government; and it is forbidden by law to dispose of it. This 
does not prevent advertisements from appearing every day in 
the papers offering tobacco shops for sale. In principle, they 
are granted as a kind of pension to deserving people ; but they 
are often, as in the case I have mentioned, procured by influen- 
tial individuals to bestow as a reward for immorality. 

I have diverged rather further than I intended for the 
present from my sketch of the manners of students and the 
formation of the young French mind, and have led the reader 
into that frontier ground, where unsettled existences congregate 
in search of amusement or pleasure, as far as possible removed 
from the operation of the laws of opinion. It will be seen that 
strange ideas of morality are here in action. The students, 
upon whom I thought it necessary to be so severe, because 
they sometimes form unlawful relations, and run into debt with 
very vague ideas of payment, call to me, in reproachful accents, 
to " rehabilitate " them ; and, indeed, comparing their pecca- 
dilloes with the frightful corruption of their seniors and contem- 
poraries, it is but just to say that at present they form the most 
respectable portion of French subjects, and that on them the 
destiny of France depends. With few exceptions, hustled aside 



RIGHT AND EXPEDIENCY. 21*7 

by circumstances, all the classes which used to constitute what 
was called the " legal country " under Louis Philippe, are in- 
curably corrupt. The only assistance they can give in the 
regeneration of their country is to stand aside, and let the young 
generations have their way. Politicians, diplomatists, financiers, 
functionaries, professional men, civil and military authorities, all 
have been tried and found wanting. I scarcely know a single 
public character, whose name has been mentioned within the 
last ten years, against whom some overwhelming accusation of 
dishonesty, weakness, or corrupt tergiversation, has not been 
directed. Revolutions put people to the test ; they purify some 
choice natures, but they corrupt the majority — defeated parties 
especially. Fear is a bad moralist. Where is the Bayard of 
France now ? " 

It is painful at first sight, but in reality cheering, to reflect 
that all this political immorality corresponds with extensive pri- 
vate immorality. The advocates of expediency are fond of 
saying that governors are emancipated from ordinary rules of 
ethics ; that perjury and murder may be, without blame, em- 
ployed in conducting the affairs of a nation ; and that a tyrant 
or a usurper may be highly respectable as an individual. This 
theory is the overthrow of all ideas of right whatever. It re- 
duces everything to a matter of regulation, and leads to the 
theory of social life prevalent under Louis Philippe's reign ; ac- 
cording to which nothing was wrong, and nothing right, bu£ 
what the law had declared to be so. M. Thiers once distinctly 
stated that " there were no rights save written rights ; " and 
has gone so far as to maintain that " there are no principles — 
there are only situations." These maxims have a pleasant air 
of audacity that favours their acceptance, and they are protect- 
ed from analysis by their epigrammatic form. "Weak people, 
anxious to be thought Machiavellic, are prompt to adopt them. 
It is the art of immoral statesmen to prepare their own absolu- 
tion by spreading the theory that politics are a mere game of 
11 



218 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

chess, in which the most cunning wins ; but it is cheering, as I 
have said, to find that corrupt doctrines of government are the 
spawn of a corrupt state of manners ; that there is no fatal ne- 
cessity, according to which the business of a nation must be 
conducted on the principles of sharpers and blacklegs; and 
that to educate and moralise the people is the surest way to 
place virtue in the cabinet. Faithful biographies of our own 
statesmen would show, that exactly in proportion as the purifi- 
cation of our morals has proceeded, have the private characters 
of our rulers been raised : and a careful examination of their 
acts will bring to light the still more consoling fact, which the 
advocates of expediency may digest as they can, that an honest 
man is an honest minister ; and that he who behaves honour- 
ably to a friend will advocate a manly, if not an able, policy, in 
parliament. We have now advanced so far in virtue, that it is 
much easier to find an honest statesman than a wise one. 

In the East, if a -man wishes to offer a bitter affront to any 
one, he speaks ill of his father and mother. We are all disposed 
to be harsh upon the women of a nation we do not like. I have 
heard the bigoted antagonists of free institutions impudently 
assert that chastity is unknown to our American sisters ; and, as 
the reader has seen, there is a tendency in a certain class of 
French writers to calumniate even English wives. I am happy, 
therefore, to find that, without premeditation, my criticisms 
bear much harder upon the bearded section of our neighbours 
than upon their ladies; whom, however, I cannot warrant as 
unexceptionable. The description I have given of the cremiere 
will show what kind of system has been substituted for that of 
the peiites maisons, of which we hear so much in narratives 
of the last century. Nearly every man of property then pos- 
sessed, besides his great hotel, "a little house," devoted to his 
amours. At present, when it has become fashionable for the 
middle classes to imitate, in their way, these lordly doings, sub- 
stantial men set up their mistresses in business, or hire a hand- 



HOW NOBLES KILL A QUEEN. 219 

some cottage for them at Meudon or Auteuil. Even students 
club together to take a villa for the summer. However, these 
facts can no longer be predicated of whole classes as of yore. 
There are to met with puritan young men, decent and moral 
bourgeois ; and even the noblesse have become tolerably correct 
in conduct. 

But, as I have hinted, if we were to take the opinion ex- 
pressed by political antagonists of the women of the various 
parties and classes, we should imagine the whole nation to be 
one vast lupunar. It is worthy of remark, that the severest and 
most effective accusation of the Legitimist party against the 
Republicans is the death of Marie Antoinette. No one has 
taken the trouble to point out, however, that that queen fell a 
victim to the infamous reputation which had been given her, 
not by the people, who afterwards condemned her, but by that 
very chivalrous nobility which has ever since whined over her 
fate, and endeavoured to exalt her into a goddess. The people 
never use calumny or detraction as their weapon. If they ob- 
ject to their governors, they throw up barricades against them. 
But the sleek Marquis and the comfortable Bourgeois find it 
more convenient to nestle in their easy-chairs and shoot little 
poisoned arrows at their enemies, taking away their characters, 
and exciting the hard-handed people to attack them. If any, 
however, are so imprudent as to listen to their incitements, they 
instantly flock for protection under the skirts of power, raise the 
cry of "spoliation," and give the signal for massacre. 

The middle and upper classes, who were too timid to resist 
the coup d'etat, and who crowded round the authority that 
threatened to fire grape-shot into them, have now recommenced 
a war of calumny — or, at any rate, of detraction — against the 
Imperial court. Whilst the sulky Republican is biding his time, 
the coward Orleanist and the rampant Legitimist — with that 
ridiculous Minotaur, the Fusionist — have raised their heads, as- 
tonished at not finding themselves crushed, and begin to spit 



220 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

venom on the foot that still keeps them down. The people 
laughed good-humouredly at the romantic marriage of the Em- 
peror. They object to the colour of his lady's hair, and say 
that she is not so handsome as a bouncing Parisian grisette ; 
but even those who believe what is said against her care little 
to gloat over it. The politicals, who were not found at the bar- 
ricades, try to weaken the Emperor by representing the wife of 
his choice as a Crowned Lorette. They rake up or invent, with 
a charity that seems proportioned to their piety, the bitterest 
anecdotes of the private life of Mademoiselle de Montijo. They 
will not forgive her for one of her failings — not even for the 
frank manners that likened her to an English girl ; and all the 
Pharisees of France are ready to stone this Magdalen, who 
has chosen, as they will have it, to repent in the purple lap of 
Empire. This is a despicable mode of warfare, worthy of those 
who use it. Histoiy will blame the Empress on other grounds ; 
for her choice condemns her as deprived of strong moral per- 
ceptions. She will be forgiven, however, by the majority of the 
people, who will understand that the refulgence of the sun that 
shone upon her made the spots of blood that flecked it indis- 
tinct to her eyes. But if ever a triumphant insurrection should 
crush her in its progress, depend upon it that, not to lose an- 
other opportunity of calumniating the Demos, all Gentility, that 
now unceasingly slanders, will be affected to tears, and will 
unite to place Saint Eugenie by the side of Saint Marie An- 
toinette ! 



CHAPTEK XYI. 

Women Educators of Youth— Their Influence on Morality — A Trip to St. Germain — 
Beautiful Scene — Historical Associations — " Charlie " — Fifine and Chronology — 
Comparative Length of Life — A Fete-day — Country Amusements — Dancing- 
places— "Paying the Piper "—Odd Style of Performance— The Police— Degrees 
of Immorality — Public Balls, by whom frequented — Young Girls — How to make 
Acquaintance with a Grisette— Simple Tastes — The Old Story— Making Happy 
the present time— The Fair — "Wandering in the Forest— Eose the Prudent— Fifine 
at fault — A Country Eestaurant — Difficulties — Fire-works — Eeturn to Asnieres — 
The Dancing-avenue— How the Grisette was created — She is not Defanct — Mr. 
Cockney at Meurice's — The Present and the Future. 

Young men learn a great deal more from women than from 
books ; a statement not meant just now to be complimentary 
to the sex. I am out of my customary partial mood. Perhaps 
I have been recently jilted, or have been seized with an uncom- 
mon admiration of truth. At any rate it is necessary to say, 
that when the Professor of Moral Philosophy has preached one 
thing, Laura or Lais often coaxes us into believing another. At 
the same time it must be confessed — and here my old weakness 
returns upon me — that if man were left alone upon the earth he 
would soon degenerate into a brute ; as, indeed, he does, when, 
having forgotten the lessons of his mother, he is cast, by accident 
or superior force, where tea-kettle never sings, and is compelled to 
become one of the blind-alleys of the species. People talk of 
the moralizing influence of Solitude. Let us not believe in it. 
Robinson Crusoe is a myth. How could a man become good 
where a dog would change into a wolf, without a companion for 
his heart to cherish or to remember ? 



222 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

French students are, perhaps, more than any other class of 
young men in the world, influenced by the female society they 
keep ; and the influence, in general, is not for good. It is true 
that, by associating with the most agreeable section of the 
humbler classes, they acquire charitable tendencies and demo- 
cratic sympathies not easily lost ; but, on the other hand, they 
often unconsciously adopt vulgar modes of viewing things, nar- 
row prejudices, and elastic principles. I know that few French- 
men will admit this. On the contrary, they affect to pass 
through the period of their youth — no matter how extensive or 
varied their experience — without receiving any taint or impres- 
sion ; and great would be their disgust to hear it said that a 
poor girl, whom they had played with as a toy, could have 
modified in any way their intellectual development. An idle 
student met a blooming beauty in the street, wandering along 
with vague glances. " Where are • you going ? " cried he. 
"Nowhere," she replied. — "Then, as we are bound for the same 
place, why not go together ? " They went : so, at least, the 
story goes. But it is not necessary to prove that on the jour- 
ney this vagabond young lady must have ta\ight or untaught 
her extempore companion a great many things on a great many 
subjects. Without further apology, therefore, I shall continue 
to relate from my own experience a variety of incidents and 
scenes of Student Life, thus indirectly showing in what manner 
the moral theories prevalent in educated French society are ac- 
quired, or, at any rate, modified. In the first place, I shall give 
a narrative of one of my excursions to St. Germain and As- 
nieres, with a party of young students and the companions of 
their pains and pleasures, performed many years ago. 

It was on such occasions that I grew quite familiar with the 
manners of the country dancing-places, but after the first coup 
(Toiil I confess that I never found much amusement there. We 
crowded into a cab to the station, and went by rail to Saint Ger- 
main. Richmond is beautiful, but it is nothing to that place. 



HISTORICAL ASSOCIATIONS. 223 

The terrace, bordered on one side by forests, descends on the 
other to a sparkling reach of the Seine, overlooks a fertile ex- 
panse of country dotted with hamlets and woods, takes in the 
whole varied outline of Paris, serrated by steeples and cathedral 
towers and domes, as well as the vast sweep of hills, where vil- 
lages and palaces peep at every point between masses of ver- 
dure, from Argenteuil all round to Meudon. There is no place 
which the Parisians admire so much, or with such good reason.. 
On Sunday, especially, train after train flies over the wooded 
country, up the slope (where atmospheric pressure takes the 
place of steam), and discharges an almost unceasing torrent of 
people under the red walls of the palace, where a proscribed 
Stuart had once leisure to repent the obstinate bigotry that 
forced him to make way for a Dutch prince adventurer. 

The Parisian, however, cares nothing for historical associa- 
tions. Besides, he has never heard what took place before '89 ; 
and if he had, what matters it to him in what room of what 
big house a discarded king of times gone by spent some gloomy 
hours ? Our countrymen are not quite so philosophical ; and 
I rarely go to Saint Germain without seeing some relative of 
my friend Cockney, or some stolid North Briton, guide-book in 
hand, prowling about the gateway, and trying to look senti- 
mental. There are still a few people who feel an interest in 
that gross family, and now and then we hear in society inno- 
cent young maidens warbling wretched ditties, that appeal to 
sentiments which they would be ashamed to understand. Why 
will mothers allow marriageable daughters to make that abom- 
inable "Charlie" the hero of their imaginations? 

" What is that great ? " [the oath had no meaning in 

her mouth, and so it is unnecessary to repeat it.] " What 
is that large Englishman looking up into the air for ? " inquired 
Fifine. 

" An English king has apartments there," observed Rose, 
to whom Guguste had been trying to impart some historical no- 



2 24 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

tions. The young man, being in a bookseller's office, thought 
it necessary to. exhibit his learning, and tried to correct her 
chronology ; but was interrupted by Fifine, who cried: — " 

" It is no matter ; I don't care a rush about him. Here is a 
dealer in macarons : the gentlemen must treat us to some." 

Agricole looked a little annoyed, because he had been just 
telling me that, instead of educating himself, he had been try- 
ing to educate Fifine, and had boasted of his success. He ad- 
mitted, however, that he could not impart to her any proper 
ideas of chronology, because she could neither believe in the 
past nor in the future, and could" rarely be brought to refer to 
the period of her own childhood, much less to the possibility 
that a time would come when she would cease to be. I believe 
that to humble, uneducated people, life is much longer than it 
is to us, who constantly overhaul the years that have gone 
by, and classify our doings and express them in general formula, 
and look a-head and analyse life, and reduce it to four or five 
great events. 

I have forgotten to mention that it was fete-day at Saint 
Germain — to my horror and dismay, for I had been taken away 
quite unexpectedly. Early in spring the villages in the neigh- 
bourhood of Paris by turns begin to celebrate the festivals of 
their patron saints. In some out-of-the-way places we may still 
observe the presence of real hearty simplicity on these occasions. 
Dancing and donkey-races form the amusements. As a rule, 
however, the fetes are only means of attracting people to spend 
money. They take place on Sundays, when all Parisians in- 
dulge in a holiday. A fete at a place like Saint Germain is a 
kind of a fair, with booths supposed to contain giants, dwarfs, 
mermaids, crocodiles, albinos, and big serpents — with stalls 
diffusing an insupportable odour of gingerbread, and exhibiting 
prodigious assortments of toys — with play-tables, where girls 
make their sweethearts spend a great deal of money without 
winning anything — with all manner of whirligigs and weigh- 



COUNTRY DANCES. 225 

ing-machines — and a band of music and fireworks in the even- 
ing. There are also tents for beer and wine drinkers, and great 
marquees set up as dancing-places in the evening. Willis's 
ball is the favourite. People pay a few sous entrance-money, 
and so much every dance, collected in the middle thereof by a 
fellow who goes round and generally contrives to interrupt you 
just as you are saying something soft to your partner; so you 
have to fumble for sous in your pocket, or stand waiting for' 
change, in danger of having some bouncing grisette launched 
as from a catapult against you. There never was a more un- 
sentimenal invention than this mode of " paying the piper." 
Another, to which the same reproach does noc attach, is never- 
theless onerous : you have no sooner got money in your hand 
than up runs a bouquet-dealer, always inexpressibly ugly, and 
insists that you shall " flower " Madame, as the phrase is. There 
is no escaping, especially if your partner half-ironically begs 
you will not go to the expense. 

Meanwhile the figure is finished, and you have to begin the 
next, after time has been given to cool down. The reflection 
at once comes that you are playing the fool. There are plenty, 
however, to keep you in countenance. The principal dancers 
are students, or shop- boys who imitate their manners. These 
young gentlemen have set to themselves the following problem 
for solution : — How is it possible to go through the greatest 
number of antics without once deviating into grace ? Dancing 
has been transformed into a violent kind of gymnastics, in 
which genteel young men kick up their legs, wag their heads, 
distort their bodies, and scatter their arms, elbows, and hands, 
exactly as if they were puppets hung on wires. Of course 
every one has his hat on — that is, stuck on the back of the 
head, to give an additional touch to the idiotic appearance 
which it is thought humourous to assume. Some girls dance a 
little more gracefully than this r but these young maidens of 
whom we read as tripping on the greensward in innocent mirth 
11* 



226 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

when the labours of the day are over, in general seem less ab- 
surd than their partners, only on account of their costumes. 
Many emulate ballet-dancers in the audacity of their pirouettes, 
although the police seem to have definite orders as to the 
height to which a toe may be raised without offence to official 
morality. They are there, as everywhere, with their cadaverous 
faces and cocked hats, looking keenly out for "contraventions." 
JSTo saucy garter can flash on the sight without bringing down the 
thunders of authority. This is a feature in French character 
that I have never been able to understand. Our neighbours 
laugh at us for our respect of the police, and yet submit quietly 
to have the expansion of their gaiety limited by ordinance. 
They do not seem in the slightest degree damped by the pre- 
sence of the officials, and are rarely carried away beyond the 
bounds prescribed. 

No doubt, considering the materials of which these assem- 
blies are in great part composed, the presence of the police 
prevents many licentious excesses ; and it is necessary to notice 
this fact, because the public balls in the neighbourhood of Paris 
and within the walls are attended on some evenings of the 
week, and in some seasons, by thousands and thousands, not 
only of rakish young men and women of equivocal character, 
but of servant-maids, tradesmen's wives whose domestic habits 
hav 1 been " disturbed," a great portion of the rank and file of 
sham-genteel society, by all the students in law and physic, by 
lawyers' clerks, b}^ shopmen, by respectable bourgeois escaped 
from their families, by young fashionables, and by an immense 
number of strangers of high and low degree. This mass of 
varied composition is not sufficiently reasonable to ensure the 
preservation of tolerably decorous conduct ; and the presence 
of one or more alguazils armed with rapiers, and empowered, if 
necessary, to call in the guard, is found to be essential. At 
eleven o'clock the dancing ceases, and the crowd disperses. 

One of the explanations of the great popularity which 



SHOP-GIRLS OF PARIS. 22*7 

these "temples of Terpsichore" enjoy, is the unbounded desire 
of the French for brilliant society. When they cannot get the 
reality they take the semblance. A young student once refused 
an invitation to spend the evening with me on a Thursday, 
saying, in an important tone of voice, " I always go to the 
Closerie des Lilacs on that day," just as one might say, " I go 
to Madame or Lady So-and-So's soiree." 

Partly as the result of their reading and of their experience 
at the theatre, partly by a natural aspiration, the young girls of 
Paris think that to go to a ball is the height of happiness — 
even to a ball where they are admitted gratis as part of the 
attraction. But it is nothing unless they have a cavalier " to 
give them his arm." An experienced man once imparted to me 
the following instructions : — If you happen to be wandering 
about, looking in at the shop-windows, and see behind a counter 
a pretty girl, into whose good graces you should like to get, 
wait till eight or nine o'clock, when she will leave business to 
go home ; salute her, and you will know at once whether she 
is virtuous, whether she is already engaged, and whether she is 
open to an offer. In the last case she will spare a smile or a 
reserved bow ; but often will not consent to be spoken to the 
next evening. She wants to know whether she is considered 
worth a little attention and trouble. But life is short, and 
courtships should not be long. In a few days she will listen to 
a compliment, and even allow her ne\V acquaintance to conduct 
her to the corner of her street. At this stage the fortunate 
youth is pointed out to the other shop-girls as an aspirant ; but 
next Sunday she accepts an invitation to spend the day in the 
country, running through the fields and the woods, picking 
flowers, with a prospect of a splendid two-franc dinner. If you 
are wise you will insist on going to the ball, although the 
young lady will object because it is improper. I have known 
many a good sound marriage which has begun in this way ; 
but matters are not always pushed so far as that. 



228 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

From these hints it will appear that the young Parisian 
work or shop-girl has very simple tastes — if her notions of mo- 
rality are not remarkable for rigidity. She delights chiefly in 
the theatre, in a two-franc dinner at a restaurant, including 
oysters and wine ; and, of course, adores a pretty gown. As 
I shall have occasion to observe, this curious being, which is 
totally unknown in England, and which we may still call a 
grisette, is a young creature, on the whole very obliging, very 
ignorant, very "strong-minded," by reflection from the men she 
frequents, laughing at the church, and having vague ideas of 
morality. She abhors those who take life, and despises those 
who. steal ; is truthful on great occasions, and speaks evil only 
of her rivals ; rarely shows any sordid feeling, though she nat- 
urally accepts presents of dress and an invitation to dinner or 
breakfast ; ■ is very affectionate, even if she has to do with a 
rascal ; and is quite disposed, if deserted by her lover, to leap 
into the Seine. The number is frightful of young girls who 
voluntarily die in Paris because, after enjoying a brief period of 
happy existence, they are unwilling to face again the stem 
reality — work, without any other object but food — no af- 
fections — -no hopes. Most, of course, put up with their mis- 
fortune, become hard and selfish, and commit sins which in the 
vengeful silence of their own minds they heap upon the heads 
of those who left them on that dreary shore. 

But this is dismal talk. Look at all those young girls with 
ruddy lips and rosy cheeks, smiling under adornments, the 
price of which would scarcely buy slippers for a great lady. 
They will be happy as long as we make them so. Agricole is 
talking of what he will do with Fiflne a hundred years hence. 
Life is a laugh to her if he keep his word, and she promises 
never to grow old. All the party are not quite so sentimental; 
but all are giggling, and grinning, and munching fruit and 
cakes. We have a great deal yet to do ; for we are bound for 
Asnieres in the evening : so, after we have all played for maca- 



OUT IN THE FOREST. 229 

rons, listened to the band, stood at the outside of all the booths, 
visited one which contained a warran lizard raised to the dig- 
nity of an alligator, drank several bottles of beer, and swallowed 
a good deal of dust, we go into the forest, to find an appetite 
for dinner in its winding paths and shady places. 

Numerous persons, for the most part in couples, had pre- 
ceded us, some racing through the underwood, others walking 
slowly along and turning down by-ways as we approached, 
others sitting on the grass with a fanciful lunch spread out be- 
fore them. Agricole was in immense spirits, which he showed 
by smoking about fifteen pipes in succession ; Fifine ran to and 
fro collecting flowers, and hiding to be found ; Rose carried her 
plump little form majestically along, listening with rather a 
critical than a tender air to Guguste, who, in the enthusiasm of 
the moment, was proposing to build a hut in the forest and 
share it with her; or, if that was not possible — on account of 
the guards — to hire a house or a lodging in the town, or to set 
up a wine shop there, and take her as a partner for better for 
worse : he would give up his situation, put on a blue apron, 
measure out brandy, and cork bottles. I believe that Made- 
moiselle Rose made it a rule to listen to every proposition of 
that kind, however absurd, and to examine it from every point 
of view before rejection. Indeed, indeed, she was a most pru- 
dent young woman ! 

Fifine suddenly refused to go a step further. She was 
hungry ; and the last time she had been in the forest — four 
years ago— (Agricole bit his lip — it was before his time) — she 
had lost her way with her cousin, Madame Pinson, until after 
dark, and they were obliged to put up with bread and cheese, 
for every thing in the town had been devoured. " You are 
always wanting to eat," quoth Agricole, rather rudely, imagin- 
ing in his stupidity that some walk with a rival had been re- 
ferred to. Fifine's eye was perfectly pellucid and innocent, and 
her cheek did not change. She understood not the sensitive- 



230 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

ness of her master for the time being ; and, had his suspicions 
been well-founded, would have come out with some irresistible 
argument, to the effect that if men will form temporary ac- 
quaintance with unfortunate young girls, they must make up 
their minds never to be certain of their fidelity. I believe 
Fifine was as faithful as a spaniel, yet she always said that, for 
the sake of morality, a lover ought never to be allowed to re- 
lapse into the confident security of a husband — otherwise men 
would never many ! 

Nothing further passed at that time ; but we went back and 
repaired to a restaurant in the principal street. It soon ap- 
peared that Fifine was quite right. We had to wait, standing, 
for half an hour, until a table was vacated, and had full leisure 
to become acquainted with the habits of the establishment. 
The guests were served by women, — great awkward girls, who 
ran hither and thither, coming in contact round corners, upset- 
ting dishes, breaking plates, shouting that they could not be 
everywhere at once, and being nowhere when they were wanted. 
Every body was hungry on coming in, and had time to get 
hungry again before anything appeared on the table. Some 
took the matter good-humouredly, but these admitted they had 
breakfasted late ; others were ferociously sarcastic, and made 
comparisons between Saint Germain and Paris, which one or 
two inhabitants of the former place seemed inclined to take as 
persona] insults. We must never say before a Frenchman that 
his language is weak, that his countrymen are not good riders, 
that Paris pastry is detestable, that his mistress is unfaithful, or 
that the place he lives in is dirty. I have known of a duel 
fought for the purity of Toulon, and there was one talked of 
for that of Madame Addle. 

At length we dined off bad soup, chops, kidneys, salad and 
cheese, with a fair allowance of wine, and were content to get 
off at two francs apiece. The fire-works were beginning when 
we came out, and children little and great were shouting, " Ah ! 



A VISIT TO ASNIERES. 231 

ah!" in admiration. "We proposed taking our coffee and re- 
turning to Asnieres. As we darted down by the atmospheric, 
a brilliant burst of rockets lighted up the terrace, and ruddied 
both the clouds and the rippling surface of the river as it flowed 
between its wooded banks. 

Asnieres was not very well attended that night, on account 
of the superior attractions of Saint Germain. The principal 
place of resort is a vast garden laid out like a park, with -a 
great coffee-house attached, and a ball-room, consisting of an 
oblong space shaded by trees with banks on either side. The 
orchestra takes its place in a huge brightly-lighted alcove at 
one end ; chandeliers are swung at various intervals ; and paper 
lanterns of all colours, decorate the trees, and " teach light to 
counterfeit a gloom" in places where fond couples go flitting 
along like shadows, under pretence of finding the swing or the 
weighing-machine. 

The dancing is exactly like that I have already described, 
and indeed, with the exception of individual eccentricities, the 
same observation applies to the Chateau des Fleurs, to Mabille, 
to the Chateau Eouge, to Valentino, &c. Some slight differ- 
ence may be observed at the Prado and the Chaumiere, where 
the regular students congregate and almost exclude other male 
visitors ; for although there is more gesticulation, there is also 
less vulgarity. The students invent new steps, and teach them 
to their lively companions.; or dress in picturesque styles; or 
parody the manners of the fashionable world. They have cre- 
ated as it were a particular species of being for their partners — 
merry, careless, easy in virtue within certain limits, but often 
generous and disinterested, always kind and obliging to their 
friends of both sexes. 

It is not yet true that the grisette has entirely disappeared. 
Indeed she could not disappear. She is a necessity of the pre- 
sent French social system ; and those who talk of her as gone, 
mean that she has gone for them, because they have out-grown 



232 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

their follies and have become respectable members of society. 
However, it is certain that many students have been driven by 
the ridicule that attaches to vulgar mirtresses who cannot spell, 
who speak bad grammar and have rough hands, not into the 
society of virtuous women, or women of the world, but into 
that of the Lorettes, who are really the most corrupted of their 
old friends, more dashingly dressed, and therefore greedy of 
money and presents, which were not thought of before, and 
altogether a less agreeable and more demoralising society. 

By the way, though I have said thus much, let not any of 
my readers imitate Mr. Cockney's cousin, who once asked at 
Meurice's hotel " where he could see a Grisette," and was only 
saved by his white neckcloth and his spectacles from wicked 
suppositions. Grisette now is almost a term of opprobrium, 
except at the Opera Comique ; and even there you are told that 
the thing no longer exists. The authors of the couplets warbled 
in that hall have long ago removed from the Quartier Latin, 
and are more familiar with the Rue de Breda. I know not 
exactly what may now be doing among the students — those 
times are past for me also — but as long as young men with 
limited means, and without very rigid notions, are sent without 
friends or guardians to study in Paris, and as long as there ex- 
ist young girls living by themselves, working on their own ac- 
count, with certain ideas of propriety that keep them from mer- 
cenary vice, but with cultivated contempt for men of their own 
class, and a strong relish for the society of well-dressed and 
agreeable youths, with all the passions and ambitions most fatal 
to female purity, but with an elegance of taste that keeps them 
from the hideous sluttishness of many women of corresponding 
positions, in other countries, and assists in preserving them in 
default of principle from the grosser forms of vice — so long may 
we believe, without journeying again into that country, that 
there still exist lineal descendants of the old grisette, although 
another name may have been found, that one being polluted. 



CHAPTEK XVII. 



The Grisettes not an "Institution"— The Working Girl who has a Friend— "Why she 
takes him— Her Eivals— The Lorettes— Eomancers at Bay— The Dame aux Came- 
lias — Immorality of French Literature, past and present — Incidents in Novels — 
Historical Eomances — Alexandre Dumas — Types of Character in Fiction — Their 
representatives in the World— The French Face— Influence of Romantic Writing 
— Lorette and Grisette — Another Adventure of Mr. Cockney — Protection of Life 
and Property — Letters emigrate — Dangerous Curiosity of Married Women — Ad- 
vice to Ladies — The Carnival — Agricole makes a Proposal — We agree to go to the 
Masked Ball -Priests and Soldiers inviolable— The Dames de la Halle— Who and 
what they are— Victory — The Catechism Poissard—Reine Leclerc — Carnival of 
1S53— Preparation for the Ball— Costume of the Ladies— First View of the Theatre 
— A Pierrette gone astray— A fortunate Bear— Fifine in Society— Effects of Dan- 
cing— All the World mad— A good Story with a bad End — Eiot and Eibaldry. 

From what is said in the previous chapter, the reader will have 
acquired some idea of what kind of thing a public ball is in 
and near Paris. I must, however, say a little more about the 
persons who frequent these places, which are the manifestations 
of a very curious, and, in some respects, very regretable state 
of society. It is difficult to talk on this subject without being 
misunderstood. Many times I have endeavoured in vain, even 
with the opportunities of self-correction and re-statement which 
conversation affords, to explain to the English auditor the real 
relation between the students or young bachelors in general, 
and the class of work-girls with whom they associate on terms 
of familiarity. When I think I have clearly expressed the 
truth, I am often met by the observation, that in the present 
state of morality the Grisette — let us still use this name — is a 
useful being ; and that it would be well if some such " institu- 



234 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

tion " existed in England. This at once shows me that I have 
not been sufficiently explicit; for the fact that young men in 
France almost invariably begin life by having a mistress belong- 
ing to a humbler class than theirs, has little to do with tempe- 
rament on either side, but is almost the necessary consequence 
of the legal constitution of society. It is the corollary of a code 
and a system of manners which disregards the affectionate part 
of our nature altogether. Perhaps, when I come to describe 
the impediments that are placed in the way of marriage, and. 
the heartless system according to which that arrangement takes 
place, I may be able to make all this clear. 

I am in danger also of leaving another erroneous impres- 
sion, for my unwillingness to enter into certain details. Made- 
moiselle Fifine, to whom allusion has so often been made, is 
not a character of every-day occurrence, though by no means 
a solitary exception. She represents " the working-girl who 
has a friend." In Paris there is a vast class of young persons 
who, being deserted by their parents sometimes, but often er led 
by love of independence, live alone or in couples, and support 
themselves by a 'variety of trades, as washerwomen, sempstresses, 
milliners, glove and bottine sewers, or by labouring in factories 
and other places where cheap and delicate hands are required. 
Very often they succeed in earning just sufficient to exist on, 
but, like all of us, they require more than this. Ambition and 
love of pleasure, too, seem to be innate in their race. It would 
be impossible to reduce the reasons and the ways by which they 
are led astray to a few general heads. Besides, we all know 
the appetites and the passions that are the causes of wrong do- 
ing. The French work-girl is rarely satisfied with the company 
of men of her own station, who take the liberty of being as 
immoral as their superiors, who, besides, grudge the taxes levied 
on matrimony in the shape of fees. She is almost always open 
to the advances of a student, an artist, or even a well-dressed 
shopman, who, careless of appearances, will go with her to the 



PUBLIC BALLS. 235 

theatre, and give her his arm in the country-walks she so much 
delights in. Thus accompanied, too, she ventures fearlessly in- 
to the brilliant balls, which present to her the most fascinating 
aspect of society she can ever become acquainted with. 

If these balls were frequented only by such as she, there 
would not be much harm done, once the lawfulness of her con- 
dition admitted. But now it is necessary to mention that the 
chief ornaments, if not the most numerous attendants of Ma- 
bille, the Chateau des Fleurs, the Chateau Rouge, even of the 
Chaumiere and thePrado, are what are called by the new name 
of Lorettes, who occupy in French civilisation the position of 
the Hetairse of ancient Greece and the Dancing-Girl of the 
East. No one can deny that these women have certain fasci- 
nating qualities, that their society is in some respects engaging, 
or that they have few, if any, representatives in our country. 
An enormous amount of trash — at once pernicious and repul- 
sive — has, however, been written about them of late. Roman- 
cers, essayists, and dramatists, finding the public a little weary 
of virtuous grisettes, and even of amiable adulteresses, have en- 
deavoured to attain originality by investing the Lorette with 
poetical attributes, and have succeeded in interesting large bod- 
ies of readers, and long successions of audiences. The Dame 
aux Camelias, the very name of which cannot be commented, 
is the best illustration I can adduce. Its object, and that of 
fifty other similar works, is what is called the " rehabilitation ; " 
that is, the glorification of the courtezan. From the time of 
Manon Lescaut downwards, there has always been in French 
literature a tendency of this kind ; but the discovery has only 
recently been made, that the use of a fine name can convert a 
dangerous into a highly moral task. 

However, at the risk of diverging a little from my theme, 
I must say that a good deal of exaggeration has been indulged 
in by those who speak of the immorality of contemporary lit- 
erature in France. Of course it is in general anything but edi- 



236 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

fying ; but there is a disposition to represent it as having grad- 
ually become worse and worse. I am inclined to think that 
those who take this view are slyly attacking democratic princi- 
ples ; and, indeed, the corruption of French literature is never 
left out in an enumeration of the frightful results of freedom. 
The truth is, however, that nothing has been published and ap- 
plauded within this century half so bad as the abominations of 
Voltaire, Laclos, and Crebillon. Even Moliere, the great Moral 
Comedian of the Great Century, treats " what men call gallan- 
try" with a dangerous and aristocratic levity, never surpassed 
in the farces of the Palais Royal. The worst books of the 
present day pay " the homage of vice to virtue, 1 ' and pretend 
to aim at moral objects. A husband, influenced by sympathy 
for some criminal amour of his wife, blowing his brains out, or 
leaping down a precipice, to be out of the way, is more offen- 
sive than dangerous ; and I doubt whether any one was ever 
corrupted by reading the companion description to this, namely, 
that of a woman discreetly disappearing to make way for a 
rival, or heroically sharing the affections of her lord with some 
sentimental stranger. These odd situations are rather sugges- 
tive of an unsettled theory of morality in their inventors than 
likely to stimulate imitation; whereas the immediate effect of 
nearly all the light literature patronised by the old regime was 
to make husbands ridiculous, and consequently prepare their 
wives for seduction. 

Still it must be confessed, that the popular writing of the 
present day in France tends strongly to produce an unwhole- 
some state of mind, and spread false ideas. The great majority 
of the French, who know anything at all, men and women, get 
their ideas of morality, philosophy, and politics, as well as of 
geography and history, from novels. Historical romances are 
the reading of grocers and porters. " I don't care," say they, 
" about all that sentimental rubbish of George Sand, Lamartine, 
and such-like ; I prefer Alexandre Dumas, who instructs whilst 



IMMORAL LITERATURE. 237 

he amuses." There is scarcely one error in this writer's works 
which has not become an article of faith amongst certain classes. 
"What dependence may be placed on him as a depictor of 
foreign parts the reader can judge from the fact, 4hat he takes 
two Platonic lovers to coo in a cottage and garden situated 
somewhere opposite Messrs. Chapman and Hall's, in Piccadilly ! 
All his geography is pretty much of this calibre ; and it is scarcely 
necessary to say, that the Englishmen who acquire their ideas 
of history from Sir Walter Scott are quite as well off as the 
Frenchmen who study the doings of princes and great men in 
the Herculean romances of this accomplished writer. 

Perhaps in no country does literature exert an effect so im- 
mediate on the externals of society, and so faint on the habits 
of the mind, as in France. I have often met people — to take 
an exaggerated instance — who were the evident apes of some 
character in a favourite romance. There are four or five types 
commonly found in the popular fictions, and it is easy to recog- 
nise their imitators in the world. A mysterious novel is rarely 
without a youth of feminine aspect, yet gigantic strength — with 
muscles of steel and a skin of satin, as they express it ; and 
accordingly we often meet a puny being, whom a breath would 
blow away, boasting of his " nervous strength," and who is 
throwing himself into a consumption in endeavouring, by gym- 
nastic exercises, to increase his supposed power. Another hack 
character is a man of tremendously energetic countenance, and 
no one can have failed to have noticed certain hard-featured 
men who go about in society trying to assume an expression of 
terrible resolve. In general, however, the French face produces 
an impression of irresolution and weakness. Even the beard 
and moustache cannot hide its want of firmness ; and the most 
ferocious-looking, when shaven, appear mere ordinary citizens, 
quite meek-looking, or at any rate wanting in solidity and 
strength. Keenness is often manifested ; but there is rarely any 
of that massiveness which is our distinctive mark. 



238 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

It is unnecessary to enumerate the other fictitious person- 
ages which exert an influence on the imitative youths of France. 
The fact that this influence really exists to the comic extent I 
have pointed out, will prepare the reader for the statement that 
the forms, at any rate, of immorality, in this present age as of 
yore, are determined in a great measure by literature. When 
the Grisette was popular, no young man would consent to be 
without his Mi mi or his Rigolette ; and now that the Lorette 
has come into favour, there is an increasing demand for that 
sort of thing, of all qualities and prices. On this rock the 
work-girls split ; and this is the cause why they are less pure, if 
I may be allowed to use that word, than of yore. A real 
Lorette is a gulf that swallows up fortunes. The students, 
therefore, have, in many cases, tried to train their humble com- 
panions, whom they loved of yore, with their red hands, rosy 
faces, plain caps, and simple gowns, to imitate the Aspasias of 
the Rue de Breda. They begin to think it vulgar to listen to 
vows of constancy uttered in bad French, and to receive billets- 
doux, which only love can decipher. Genteel immorality has 
become the fashion. This is the reason why, to a certain ex- 
tent, the Grisette, under her simple aspect, has disappeared. 
All free girls are forced to try and emulate the fine lady, under 
pain, if they do not succeed, of losing their admirers. It is not 
difficult to persuade them to this ; for one of the essential quali- 
ties of the Lorette — the c comme il faut — is to be daz- 

zlingly, voluptuously, miraculously dressed ; and many poor 
things fancy they are quite naughty enough to be amiable, if 
they pan only emulate the toilettes that have driven nearly all 
nominally modest women from Longchamps. 

The Lorettes derive their name from living in considerable 
numbers in the neighbourhood of the church of Notre Dame de 
Lorette, which they frequent, and which is appropriately mere- 
tricious in ornament. Most of them are known, like the caged 
beauties, to the police, and inscribed on their Register ; but they 



HONESTY AND MORALITY. 239 

live in lodgings, with furniture of their own, and are often mis- 
taken by foreigners, especially our sentimental countrymen, for 
fashionable ladies. Cockney once being at a public ball, hap- 
pened to drop his diamond ring, which a Lorette picked up and 
restored. This act of impulsive honesty touched him. He fell 
in love with her, and remained her devoted servant for some 
time, supplying her with money ; which she spent, when she 
could get out, with young Frenchmen, who joined her in laugh- 
ing at the fool whose generosity furnished them with means of 
amusement. 

It is peculiarly characteristic of Englishmen to suppose that 
rigid honesty in money matters is a warrant for the existence of 
all the other virtues. It is not very uncommon for them to be 
so struck by some act of probity in a girl, who may be unchaste, 
ungrateful, foolish, and malicious, as to marry her in a moment 
of enthusiasm. This shows a very low state of mental and 
moral development, and explains why foreigners imagine us to 
be sordid Mammon-worshippers. The influence of the same 
aberration may be traced in all our legislation ; we used to ' 
hang a person for stealing five shillings, as for murder : and we 
now discuss whether a five or a ten-pound franchise will secure 
the purest representation. There never was a more degrading 
theory than that government was instituted for " the protection 
of life and property," except that according to which a man's 
wisdom and virtue is measured by the amount of his having : 
so that he who has so much can exercise a certain right ; and 
he who has so much more, another right ; and so on. 

However, these ideas are now only entertained from habit 
and tradition, and we shall soon get rid of them. Such men as 
our friend Cockney, indeed, will become enlightened at last. 
I have left him in the clutches of a rampant Lorette. He was 
called away on business suddenly, but made her promise to 
follow him. Shortly afterwards he sent her a good sum of 
money, which she spent in jollification, and then wrote for more, 



240 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

giving some hypocritical reason why she did not come. He 
sent her another supply — also wasted. A third time he was* 
generous. Cockney is really a fine fellow, and believes in the 
virtue of those who do not pick his pocket ; but at length he 
began to suspect the real case, which was this, — that Brunette 
might be trifled with in Paris, where she could have other 
society when she pleased, but that it would require much finer 
offers than he made to lure her into barbarous foreign regions. 
Some Lorettes, when Paris has become an unwholesome resi- 
dence for them, go to Russia as governesses and ladies'-maids, 
and improve the morals of that delightful country. Most of 
them are cold, heartless creatures, capable of a good action now 
and then, and not inclined to steal : but they bring up in their 
costly apartments greyhounds, monkeys, and parrots, and send 
their children *to the Foundling Hospital. 

It has often been remarked, that when some celebrated Lo- 
rette announces the sale of her furniture — an event that may 
signify either a rise or a fall in position — a great number of 
women of the world always hasten to " view the premises," un- 
der pretence of a desire to purchase, but really in order to 
penetrate once, at least, into what their imaginations have repre- 
sented to them as something mysterious, marvellous, and dan- 
gerous. To a large class of French married women the routine 
of ordinary life, the round of daily duties unsanctified by affec- 
tion, and scarcely inspired by duty, becomes early distasteful ; 
and the very fact that men who can mix in the most amiable 
and brilliant circles, and who have beautiful wives of their own, 
often seek the society of the Phrynes of the Quartier Breda, 
suggests the opinion — -not unfounded — that these beings have 
some secret power of fascination irrespective of personal charms. 
Ladies would give the world to possess it. This accounts for 
the curiosity which all women who dare to speak the truth 
express to know the details of lorette life. Some, more ven- 
turesome than others, though rather virtuous than the contrary, 



SERMON TO WOMEN. 241 

allowing themselves only one lover at a time, Lave sought for 
interviews with the most famous of their rivals, imagining that 
they could learn the art of seduction from them as from pro- 
fessors. Vain hope ! They will always be defeated if they fight 
with borrowed weapons. But in every country, if women would 
devote a little more time to developing their companionable 
qualities, and, forgetting those which they have been forced to 
acquire in order to lure us, foolish youths, into matrimony, — if 
they would read more and play less, speak better, sing no Ger- 
man or Italian, leave anti-macassars to manufacturers, who can 
make them as well and cheaper ; and if they must work, occupy 
themselves in household duties, — if they would do all this, in 
as far as it suited their husbands' tastes, they would not need 
to enter into vain competition with Lorettes or Opera-dancers. 
However, after all, the men are, perhaps, as much to blame as 
they. 

I do not propose to give any account of the details of lorette 
life, but mention these women simply as the rivals and the 
models of the young work-girls who associate with students and 
artists, and who form the common visitors of most of the public 
dancing-places. This mixture is the worst feature of the irregu- 
lar existence led by young men, who, partly from thoughtless- 
ness, partly from a growing clistase for simple pleasures, partly 
in obedience to fashion, corrupt their partners in order to make 
them amusing, and have rendered it extremejy difficult, in some 
cases, to distinguish between them and the professional votaries 
of vice. 

There are some seasons of the year when every one who has 
young blood in his or her veins seems to be seized with a rabid 
desire of enjoyment. The Carnival is one of these. Although 
of late years it has greatly fallen off, chiefly in consequence of 
the interference of the police, it never comes round without in- 
spiring an immense proportion of the population of Paris with 
a desire to make fools of themselves. Even those who have 
12 



242 PURPLE TINTS OP PARIS. 

previously resolved to spend their time in sobriety rarely resist the 
influence of the season. Agricole came one day last year to me 
with a serious proposal that I should join him, Fifine, Augustine, 
and some other wags, male and female, most of whom had 
formerly belonged to our club, in a promenade down the Boule- 
vards in a gilded chariot ; and was induced to desist only when 
I represented to him that at present such exhibitions were used 
merely as modes of advertising great clothing-marts. However, 
I agreed to join the same jovial set in a visit to the masked ball 
at the Opera, which I had never thought of seeing when I 
should have been more disposed to enjoy it. The Empire had 
been proclaimed the previous year ; and terrible warnings and 
threats were in circulation against whomsoever should venture 
any political allusion, in word or deed, or should make fun of 
priests or soldiers, the two great pillars of the present regime. 
All civil functionaries were abandoned to merciless ridicule — for 
it is the object of Napoleon III. to simplify as much as possible 
what may be called the moral machinery of government, to 
make fear and humility the fulcrum of his internal policy, and 
to get rid as much as possible of that complex thing called 
public opinion, which is created, guided, and formed by the 
press, the magistracy, and political assemblies ; which criticises, 
applauds, and stigmatises ; strews the Boulevards with flowers, 
and directs alike the poignard of the fanatical Republican and 
of the hired Royalist assassin. 

At the Carnival of 1851 a good deal of excitement was 
created by the appearance of a body of women, afterwards 
known to have been hired for the purpose, dressed in the cos- 
tume of the Dames de la Halle of times gone by. They came 
tumultuously in, and began shouting " Vive VJEmpereur /" but 
were soon obliged to desist, because a universal murmur warned 
the police that a counter-demonstration was imminent. So they 
were privately warned to retire. By the w~ay, some impression 
was once produced on the public mind by a florid account of 



DAMES DE LA HALLE. 243 

the brilliant reception given to his Imperial Majesty by the 
ladies of the Halle. It becomes interesting, therefore, to inquire 
who these ladies are ; not with any idea of diminishing the 
value of their warm adhesion to the new order of things — my 
democratic feelings would prevent this — but that the exact 
truth may be known by those who have not travelled. Illustra- 
tions of manners that bear upon the great political events of the 
day are always pleasing. The expression, "Dames de la Halle" 
is a modern euphemism for "Poissardes" or Fish-fags. They 
were not so called because they all sold fish, for they dealt 
likewise in fruits, vegetables, and flowers ; but the name is a 
generic one, applied to all those brazen-throated dames who 
vomit slang at their customers one day, and shout at the heels 
of Success another. 

"Whom Heaven 
Is pleased to style Victorious — there, to such 
Applause runs madding, like the drunken priests 
In Bacchus' sacrifices, without reason 
Voicing the Leader-on a demi-god." 

These said Poissardes, under the name of Dames de la Halle, 
had formerly the privilege of complimenting in person the king, 
the queen, the members of the royal family, and the chief no- 
bility, upon public occasions — of course, for the sake of a pres- 
ent. The custom ceased at the Revolution. They endeavoured 
to revive it under the Great Napoleon, and went to greet him 
on his return from some campaign. But he did not like the 
smell of fish, and received them so roughly, that they did not 
try again until after Waterloo. Then eight or a dozen shabby 
old women, half tipsy, tried to get an audience of Louis XVIII. ; 
but they were only admitted to see his valet-de-chambre, who 
thanked them, in the king's name, from a distance. Their de- 
light may be imagined, therefore, when the trumpet of popular 
applause was again put into their hands. I am disposed to 
think highly of Louis Napoleon's wisdom in entrusting, during 



244 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

the silence of the press, the task of vociferating his praises to 
these foul-mouthed but enthusiastic viragos. They, at least, are 
hearty, whilst they are at it, being accustomed to disperse their 
affection in quarters where no mincing accents and tender words 
are fashionable. Their reputation for potent language is, indeed, 
so great, that there exists a kind of manual of blackguardism, 
entitled " Le Catechisme Poissard" or the art of abuse. Its 
influence has been considerable in forming the taste of the 
country, and very few women of the lower orders have not 
dipped into it. I may add, that a fishwoman, named Heine 
Leclerc, has just been condemned to one. year's imprisonment, 
five hundred francs fine, and costs, for circulating anti-im- 
perial news ; so that if enthusiasm is rewarded, disaffection is 
not optional. 

The Carnival of 1853 was a miserable affair indeed, which 
it grieved me not to see ; for it suggested that, however the 
French might endeavour to conceal the fact, they feel they have 
less reason to be glad than of yore. In the streets there were 
few costumes — scarcely any, as I have said, but such as were 
sent about on horseback, or in chariots, to advertise the " Pro- 
phete" or other houses of that kind, where ready-made articles 
of dress are sold. The balls, nevertheless, were tolerably well 
filled. Dancing and debauchery are irresistible. Besides, it is 
only at this season that jollity is allowed to be kept up until 
morning. At every other time all places of public amusement, 
except theatres, are closed precisely at eleven, just when the 
witching hour is approaching at which Englishmen usually 
begin to unbend. 

The custom is to hire a domino or other costume at shops 
opened for the purpose. Here a gentleman's ticket may be ob- 
tained for six francs and a-half, and a lady's ticket for nothing. 
At the doors the price is ten francs. Comparatively few men 
wear masks and dresses at present ; and the majority thus being 
in black coats, there is no danger, as of yore, that a bag of 



BALL COSTUMES. 245 

flour will be thrown over the pekin, or civilian. The only- 
penalty which non-disguise entails is an immense number of ex- 
tracts from the " Catechisme Poissard" which one is bound to 
bear with good humour. We arrived in excellent order about 
twelve o'clock, having taken care to indulge, according to imme- 
morial custom, in a bowl of hot, spiced wine, after supper, — 
a meal, by the way, never taken on any other occasion in 
France. 

Fifine was charming as a flower-girl, and looked indeed so 
pretty, that we all regretted the necessity of a mask. As for 
Rose, she had chosen a costume usually selected by slight ele- 
gant figures, and reminded me irresistibly of a Chinese Manda- 
rin. Guguste, whose attentions had at length been crowned 
with success, and who has now serious thoughts of matrimony, 
was at first angry, — swore that all the men would run at her 
and kick her, mistaking her for a balloon ; said some other ab- 
surd things, nearly made her cry, and at last declared that he 
was quite proud of her. Augustine, who has pretensions to be 
an elegant lady, had chosen a white domino, and seems to have 
entertained vague hopes of captivating a prince, — for which she 
was probably punished by Jules, who had a mania for pinch- 
ing ; at any rate, we heard a mouse-like squeak as we went 
down-stairs. I may as well mention that she disappeared in 
the course of the evening, returned home at a late hour, and 
was laid up for a week by a fever, proceeding, it was suspected, 
from Tom Pouce's " real Guiana cane." Similar episodes, how- 
ever, were always occurring, and nobody cared anything about 
them. 

It is almost superfluous to describe the brilliant scene that 
presented itself, as, after much shoving and laughing, we 
emerged from the right-hand staircase and stood a moment — 
ere we were carried forward into the turbulent crowd — looking 
down that vast hall. It was filled from end to end — pit, stage, 
orchestra, as every one, I suppose, knows from experience or 



246 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

hearsay, being changed into what appeared to merit the name 
of a dancing-plain. A frenzied polka was in course of execu- 
tion ; and the performers, nearly all decked out in the most 
brilliant colours, were bobbing up and down, whirling, sliding, 
and tottering in a thousand little spots, which they cleared as 
they went amidst the prodigious mass of spectators. A. con- 
tinued roar of laughter and insane speech rose on every side. 
A firmament of lights glared overhead. The boxes were full 
of people, some whispering to one another, some shouting to 
friends below, some hanging over in wonder and amazement. 
A young girl dressed as a Pierrette, who seemed to have lost 
her companion, was crushed up against me. I thought she 
would be stifled ; but she rose on tiptoe,- quite careless of a clan- 
ger that usually appals her sex, and cried, or rather screamed, 
" Mon Dieu, que c'est beau ! " — " Oh, heavens, how beautiful ! " 
Beautiful, indeed, as the hall of Eblis ! What do you there 
with your sweet voice and your enthusiasm ? I held her in my 
arms for about a minute as we were pushed on through the 
crowd, when she was taken from me by a huge fellow dressed 
as a bear — perhaps her companion with whom she had come, — 
perhaps not, — who knows ? She dropped willingly into his 
paws, and was soon whirling round with him ; and I often met 
her afterwards looking up at his hideous jaws, and evidently 
quite proud of his attentions. He may have promised her a 
breakfast ; in which case I hope you came with him, little 
Pierrette, or are very used to that sort of thing, otherwise it 
will go hard with you, and you will not relate with glee, as no 
doubt you have planned to do, all your adventures to wonder- 
ing cousins and comrades. 

Fifine, who had tormented Agricole to take her, plays the 
prude sometimes ; at least, with misplaced modesty, she would 
not allow strange men to touch her waist, and quoted her 
habitual phrases : " Jeu de main — -jeu de vilain ; " and " Look 
as much as you please, but touch not." Agricole put hei 



CONTAGIOUS EXCITEMENT. 24*7 

under my charge while he danced with Rose, and solemnly 
warned me not to lose sight of her ; " for," said he, " though 
I trust her as far as a woman can be trusted, I will not take the 
responsibility of exposing her to all the influences of this place. 
Like the rest, she will get intoxicated, mad, before one hour is 
over. Depend upon it there are fifty women here, who have 
come allured by the certainty of remaining unknown, and who 
promise themselves only a little innocent recreation, and who 

to-morrow . But let us not moralise : look after her, that 

is all." 

The disagreeable part of the business nowadays is, that 
though the women are sure of impunity — unless some im- 
pudent fellow, transgressing all the laws of the place, should 
remove their mask by fraud, in which case his ears and cheeks 
are not safe — men are, of course, recognised by their acquaint- 
ances, and are obliged to trust to their discretion. I saw at 
the Opera, and have seen at other places, men whom the world 
could scarcely conceive as present at such scenes, not merely 
spectators, but joining in all the mad enjoyment of the occa- 
sion, — laughing, talking worse than nonsense, flirting, and even 
dancing — or, rather, gesticulating — like madmen and fools, as 
they all were for the moment ; for there is indeed something 
intensely exciting, something that cannot be explained or de- 
scribed, some magnetic influence that pervades the frame on 
such occasions, changes one's character, alters one's motives, 
and makes one act up exactly to the spirit of the place. A 
Bishop could scarcely remain there an hour without dancing 
the cancan. You must not be surprised, therefore, if I was 
instigated by Fifine to join in a monstrous quadrille organised 
in every part of the huge hall. How I acquitted myself I don't 
know ; but Agricole, to whom I had in good faith declared 
that I would not for the world join in such absurdities, pro- 
fessed himself delighted with my rapid demoralisation and 
took care to dance with Fifine all the rest of the evening him- 
self. 



248 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

An incident occurred a year or two ago at one of these balls 
that might have furnished matter for a farce, except for the 
catastrophe. A married man announced to his wife that he 
was suddenly called away into the country — an old worn-out 
trick, — and went to " the ball " with some friend, probably a 
lady. The wife immediately suspecting what was planning, 
said nothing ; bade him, indeed, an affectionate farewell ; and 
as soon as his back was turned hastened to a dealer in cos- 
tumes, hired a rose-coloured domino, and at a due hour went 
to the Opera. After some wandering about, and a few flirta- 
tions, the disguised lady came upon her husband, who was very 
warm in his attentions to a companion. However, he does not 
appear to have been overmuch fascinated ; for, seeing an elegant 
domino following him, with the vanity of his sex he imagined 
he had made a conquest entirely by his personal attractions, 
contrived to lose his partner, and eagerly offered his arm to his 
wife. Possibly she had not accustomed him to the gentle key 
in which she now spoke. At any rate he did not recognize her, 
and the courtship went so far that he offered, and she accepted, 
an invitation to an early breakfast at the Cafe Foy. No sooner 
had they reached the little salon than, with many blandishments, 
he begged her to unmask ; which she imprudently did, before 
he had touched the elegant meal laid out. Instead of laugh- 
ing, as in a play, and pretending that he had known her all 
the while, which certainly she deserved for her ingenuity and 
her cleverness, the disappointed brute began instantly to abuse 
her ; upon which she reproached him with his extravagance in 
taking her to so expensive a place, under the supposition that 
she was " no better than she should be," — he "who used to 
grumble at giving her a two-franc dinner on Sundays ! The 
dispute lasted half an hour, after which the unreconciled couple 
ate the breakfast " that it might not be wasted," and went 
sulkily home, she with bitter hatred that her joyous freak had 
ended in so humiliating a manner, and he vowing in his own 



PROSY CATASTROPHE. 249 

mind never to forgive her because she had spoiled his pleasure. 
Animal ! He was surprised afterwards when his wife perceived 

that Monsieur , the grocer, had amiable qualities ! 

Of course we all stopped until six o'clock in the morning, in 
order to see the Galop Infernal, which usually winds up these 
uproarious proceedings ; but it appears that several accidents 
had recently happened, and so, just as the last quadrille finished 
and the mad torrent of masks began to rush round the vast 
hall, the police interfered and put an end to the fun, by remind- 
ing all whom it might concern that there was a Power in the 
land which could control the movements both of caperer and 
conspirator. There was an attempt at disapprobation, and I 
think an arrest was made. But every one was weary ; and, 
indeed, the infernal galop had been danced by anticipation sev- 
eral times in the course of the evening. The whole crowd 
made, accordingly, for the doors, and gradually succeeded in 
getting out into the chill morning air. Cabs were plying on 
the Boulevards, but the drivers raised their whips in vain. Most 
of the girls, still half-intoxicated by excitement, determined to 
walk home in their dresses, which had been pretty the night 
before, but were now strangely rumpled. Some danced along 
the pavement ; others, in vain, tried to appear elastic. At that 
hour the Lorettes had vanished, and all those jaded little crea- 
tures were grisettes, some of whom had come with a lover, 
others in search of one, others merely in hopes of amusement. 
I overheard several talking of the sad necessity of going to 
work again that very day. Fifine remembered the time when 
she made a shirt after returning from the ball, and congratu- 
lated herself that she was now absolved from that duty " by her 
dear Agricole," as she said, in an expansive manner not usual 
with her. She had long been delicate, and coughed dreadfully 
as we returned home, refusing obstinately to ride. The time 
was evidently past when she could indulge in such dissipation 
12* 



250 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

with impunity ; but the person who should have told her so 
would have been very ill received. 

After all one quits these places — except in the very thought- 
lessness of youth — with anything but satisfied feelings. They 
must exert a demoralising effect upon any one who has still a 
remnant of purity to lose — at least, when they are made an 
habitual resort. The Opera ball itself is an expensive place, 
and is not visited by more than some thirty thousand people in 
the season ; but at the same time, all over Paris, there are open 
masked balls of every degree of respectability, and as they are 
always crowded, it is fair to infer that the majority of young 
people not kept within their families by authority, and a great 
many people no longer young, indulge in this kind of dissipa- 
tion at least once a-year. On the occasion I have described I 
noticed, of course, no political allusions ; but as the night ad- 
vanced, in the hall, in the staircases, in the boxes, and the gal- 
leries, there was an outpouring of indecency and ribaldry such 
as I had never heard before. The foyer was a little more 
select ; but even there it was possible to understand the license 
of the Saturnalia. What was my surprise, accordingly, when, 
not long afterwards, at a party, a lady whispered to me, " The 
flower-girl with whom you. danced at the Bal de l'Opera had a 
white and blue rosette upon her cap ! " 



CHAPTEK XVIII. 

The Story of Fifine. 

I have already hinted at the circumstances under which Agri- 
cole first met Fifine. Their story was very simple — some will 
say vulgar, or worse. It began long before the young student 
had escaped from that happy state of mind — that time when 
the bright and joyous colours of the future are stolen to deck 
the present — that arcade of flowers and sun-light, through which 
we all pass on our way from boyhood to manhood. This I am 
sure of, from certain particulars that have come to my know- 
ledge. Yet, at first sight, Agricole's conduct, stated without 
commentary, would suggest that he was neither ignorant nor 
innocent. He knew something from reading, a good deal from 
hearsay — little from experience ; and was more pure in act 
than in intention. He had heard that, as a matter of course, a 
student must have a mistress, just as he must have pipes and 
books, and deliberately set about discovering one. He had 
no romantic ideas, at least he thought so ; and beforehand 
dwelt on all the incidents of his amour — the beginning, the middle, 
and the end ; looked forward, especially, to the means of escape 
from the trammels he was desirous of entering into ; dropped 
a few tears by anticipation ; felt a little villanous ; and consoled 
himself by making a proper provision for the deserted one — 
who was to be all constancy and devotion, of course — and whom 
it would be very difficult to prevent leaping into the Seine, or 



252 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

dying by a pan of charcoal. This catastrophe averted, she was 
to pine away, nevertheless, and die young, to satisfy that fero- 
cious sentiment of jealousy which would stifle the object of first 
love, even after it has been cast away, rather than that any one 
else should enjoy it. 

These preliminaries settled, with a certain amount of delib- 
eration, Agricole, as I have said, looked abroad for an eligible 
person answering exactly to his idea, and was a little surprised 
that she did not present herself at once. His friends recom- 
mended him to Mademoiselle Celestine, whose heart was un- 
occupied at that precise moment; but she was too fond of 
bonbons, laughed and talked too loudly, and committed too 
many offences against grammar. Melanie, Delphine, Rose, 
Augustine, were all too vulgar, too material, too covetous, too 
noisy, too greedy, and too light in behaviour. " Why, my 
friend," said to him a more experienced man, when he heard of 
these rejections, " you are not seeking to amuse yourself, but 
are looking for- the woman that is to decide on your destiny. 
Take care ; this is dangerous work. A student must choose a 
mistress that he knows to be unfit for a permanent companion, 
or he never gets rid of her." 

Agricole thought this advice impertinent, and went on seek- 
ing and indulging in little episodes by the way. For a whole 
week Melanie thought she had succeeded in " fixing him," as 
these poor girls express it, and boasted that she was to go to 
Saint Germain with him on the first fine Sunday ; but the fine 
Sunday came, and Agricole shut himself up in his room, after 
having told his porter that he was at home to no one, especially 
not to a young lady with poppy-flowers in her bonnet, who 
might call. 

One day the femme de menage, or charwoman, who did 
Agricole's rooms in consequence of some disagreement with the 
portress — probably based on vile pecuniary considerations — said, 
with a very wicked smile, that a young girl had come to live 



STORY OF FIFINE. 253 

on the same floor, indeed in the very next apartment. The 
student, who was trying to read the Code Napoleon, rather im- 
patiently observed that he did not care. " What I mean," said 
the old woman primly, " is, that she is a lingere ; and if you 
are polite to her, she may sew your buttons on for a trifle, and 
mend your shirts, which want it." 

Her remarks roused no curiosity ; and it was at least three 
weeks before Agricole saw his new neighbour. Perhaps be- 
cause she had been recommended to him, he did not at first 
like her appearance at all. She had a low forehead; eyes, 
with outer corners slightly elevated, and always sparkling mer- 
rily, even satirically ; a pretty little nose ; but a large mouth, 
which would have been ugly except for the splendid rows of 
teeth it contained ; teeth, that seemed constantly ready to bite 
anything that came in their way — apples or hearts. Her 
cheeks were fresh and healthy ; and there was something oddly 
engaging in her manner. She had a great talent for mimicry. 
Half her talk was pantomimic representation. By this means 
she saved a great deal of time; and whilst Agricole was 
leaving his key in the lodge, and giving deliberate instructions 
in case any one called, Fifine — for this was she — would relate, 
for example, that she had met So-and-So's husband, imitate his 
gait, his way of wearing his hair, his tone, with indescribable 
rapidity, and be half up-stairs before Agricole had had time to 
finish laughing. 

These little scenes, however, happened only at wide inter- 
vals, when she was in a high state of good humour ; for, al- 
though she had been known to the portress for years, she only 
associated with her just enough to be on good terms. She was 
such a gay, lively, little thing, that Agricole could not help feel- 
ing a good deal of curiosity about her, and asking some parti- 
culars of her history; but at the same time she was so opposed 
to all his theoretical notions of beauty and grace, that the idea 
of courting her never entered into his head. To tell the truth, 



254 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

at that time she spoke French infamously, had a strange set of 
slang phrases, and indulged in some startling witticisms, — for 
she was very witty without knowing it. This was the reason 
that few people knew she had such a quality ; for half the suc- 
cess of a Wit depends on his hearers being in wait for good 
things, which otherwise dart out of sight before understood, — 
like a quail rising at the feet of a slow marksman. 

The femme de menage, who seemed to think it almost im- 
proper for a young man and young woman, living so near, to 
keep on such distant terms, several times returned to the charge 
with jokes and insinuations ; but being always repelled, at length 
went about declaring that Agricole was a great villain to have 
led astray that charming, chirping, little creature. I sometimes 
think that Fifine could have had none of the external qualities 
that are admitted to be irresistible with men ; for no woman 
ever condescended to be jealous of her. All her neighbours, 
young, old, ugly, pretty, married or unmarried, united in mak- 
ing a pet of her. Nobody did anything well but Fifine. She 
was the supreme judge in the quarter of the fit of a gown, the 
shape of a bonnet, the words of a love-letter, the sauce of a 
ragout, -and the certain something which, added to or taken 
from a man's nose, makes him handsome or otherwise. Even 
afterwards, when she had given occasion for scandal, no one 
threw stones in her direction ; mothers smiled benevolently at 
her as she passed ; and she received three offers of marriage 
when she was known to be the mistress of Agricole. House- 
wifery must be an uncommon thing in France, to fetch a price 
like that. 

I have promised to relate how all this came to pass, and 
have claimed the privilege of doing so without being more 
severe than poor Fifine's neighbours. The girl was marvellously 
discreet with all but Agricole ; and perhaps even he never knew 
the whole of what she had undergone. She had lived, accord- 
ing to her expression, u as a bachelor" ever since the age of 



STORY OF FIFINE. 255 

seventeen ; and ever since that of nine or ten had been almost 
entirely abandoned by her friends. Her mother had died when 
she was very young ; and there was something singularly pa- 
thetic in the way in which she would point to an empty chair 
by the fire-side, and wonder what changes might have taken 
place in her fortunes if the bonne femme had lived to occupy 
it. Not that she ever admitted distinctly that, in her view, the 
state in which she was living was at all moraLy wrong — only 
un advisable on worldly grounds. To have reproached herself 
would have been to complain of Agricole, and neither her pru- 
dence nor her love counselled this. However, it would have been 
pleasant to go before the good old lady and say, " This is my 
husband," just because the word is in common use, nothing 
more: though, after all, "there would be nothing extraordinary 
in her being married ; many worse people were ; and she thinks 

" but she goes no farther, suppressing all notice of the 

huge amount of comforts she feels capable of procuring to a 
man " who should really belong to her." Agricole sits moodily 
at the corner of the fire, puffing smoke through his moustaches. 
I catch one eager inquiring glance which she casts at him ; and 
although she would laugh at you if you were to talk plainly of 
the efficacy of a few words spoken before the maire, she is 
peevish for a minute or so afterwards, says she does not like 
smoke, throws open the window though it is a bitter frosty 
night, and scolds the stranger who spits on the floor. 

All this, however, is anticipation, and would be unpardon- 
able if my readers did not already know precisely what took 
place. Their curiosity must be directed to learn the means and 
the justification. Fifine was brought up as an apprentice ; 
never received assistance or advice from her father, who lived 
far away in the country ; and found herself, as I have said, at 
the age of seventeen, entirely dependent on her own exertions 
for subsistence. She could scarcely either read or write; knew 
nothing but a few maudlin songs, which her companion work- 



256 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

girls had taught her ; had learned to despise the clergy and 
religion, which she identified with its professors ; believed that 
happiness was Youth, and nothing more ; thought it odd that 
people should live to be old and miserable ; and, above all, held 
it as the central article of her creed that men were cold, selfish 
beings, who would accept all a woman's sacrifices, but make 
none in return. At the same time, strangely enough, she al- 
lowed it to be perceived that, without these barbarous men, the 
w r orld would seem to her a very dismal sort of thing. She 
rather respected our hard-heartedness, perhaps not being able 
to understand it. The Beard Wearer was the monstrous idol 
that scared whilst it fascinated her. If she had not held very 
rigid notions of the dignity of woman, she might have submit- 
ted to be beaten ; but " the man who beats a woman is a 
coward," and a blow would have shattered at the same time 
her esteem and her affection. 

Strange things come to pass sometimes. Agricole, rather 
alarmed by the charwoman's hints, and not at all desiring any 
particular intimacy with his saucy little neighbour, often impo- 
litely passed her on the stairs, with a nod instead of a bow. 
On the other hand, it seems quite ascertained that she looked 
upon him as an ugly, awkward, country lout ; and the portress 
once amused me by relating how Fifine used to mock her neigh- 
bour, and make him ridiculous in the eyes of all the other 
lodgers. She even drew a caricature of him, said to be an 
exact resemblance ; but as it was with her finger on a mirror 
dimmed by her breath, there are no means of ascertaining this 
fact. All we can be certain of is, that for three months Agri- 
cole ceased to be looked upon with much respect in the quarter, 
because Fifine set the current of public opinion against him ; 
and all the women agreed that he was sinister-looking, ill-man- 
nered, slovenly, and poor. The young damsel was not very 
scrupulous in her hostility, and even went so far as to ascertain 
from his laundress the number of shirts he possessed : a Four 



STORY OF FIFINE. 25*7 

and a half," said she, with great contempt ; for her press was 
full of linen, and she had been brought up to consider it as the 
first necessary of life. 

Her contempt, however, was not malicious ; for one clay 
that Agricole, suddenly finding himself in a buttonless state just 
as he was going to a ball, applied to her for assistance, she not 
only gave it, but took occasion to examine his cupboard, and 
lecture him on its condition. She proved to a demonstration that 
in a month or so he would be obliged to go out with his coat 
buttoned up to his chin, and nothing between his cravat and 
his beard. At first he was inclined to be offended-— for he had 
no money to spend just then in shirts ; but when she proposed 
to introduce him to her employer, and " be security for him, 1 ' — i 
this was said with a quiet, conscious air, as if she had a banker's 
reputation — he could not refuse, and so their courtship began 
by his being placed under obligations to her — a plain reversal 
of the laws of nature. 

I have said their courtship, but should have said their fami- 
liarity ; for this liaison was no sudden affair — no spark acci- 
dentally dropping into a pan of gunpowder. Its progress was 
slow — so slow that nobody knew how it went on ; some be- 
lieved it was all over before it had begun, and some were not 
quite sure for years that more than the prelude of the ballad 
had been played. Fifine's chief quality was discretion. She 
always kept her own counsel, which is the first part of wisdom. 
However, with friends, neither she nor Agricole objected to talk- 
ing over the early hours of their acquaintance, and the poor 
thing took especial delight in insisting on the profound impres- 
sion of ugliness which her lover had at first produced. 

Agricole was rather delicate in health at that time, and 
often required nursing. The portress, indeed, one day informed 
Fifine that he was lying ill in bed — a piece of information that 
drew forth the remark that many a handsomer fellow than he 
was in a worse case. " Your heart is very hard," quoth the 



258 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

portress, trying to look ■ very humane ; which she really was, 
though Nature had given her a face like a man. " What is he to 
me ? " cried Fifine. " These young fellows spend all their 
strength in wickedness, and then fancy that women were made 
to be their nurses. I sha'n't go and see him. I hate sick 
people. I hate sickness. No one is ill but from his own fault. 
He eats too much, he drinks too much, he sits up too late, and 
I am sure that he is a horrible rake." 

Fifine was a curious girl. She had faith in no divinity but 
Health. I never heard any one talk so much about the neces- 
sity of avoiding disease. It seemed as if she believed in the 
sacredness of the human body. According to her, the only 
damnable, unpardonable sin, was dirt. She was not very co- 
quettish, though neat in her outward appearance ; but I have 
her own authority for a variety of facts that prove that she vene- 
rated her neat little person to an amusing extent. Perhaps this 
excessive attention to cleanliness is incompatible with a corrupt 
mind. Ablutions have not been made a religious duty without 
an object. At any rate, Fifine carried aversion to Disease — her 
Satan — to so great an extent, that for several clays she could 
not be persuaded to see Agricole, though she sent him in broth, 
and a variety of articles of dress not quite adapted for male 
wearing. He must have cut a ludicrous figure sitting up in a 
camisole fringed with lace, holding his basin of bouillon in one 
hand, a spoon in the other, and trying to understand why his 
good little neighbour objected to come in. 

At length she did come in, under pretence of seeing the 
invalid in a great new night-cap which she had bought for him, 
and the point of which reached up almost to the ceiling. 
He was preparing to thank her, with tears in his eyes — for this 
persevering series of small attentions had made some impres- 
sion on him — when, rather to his discomfiture, she gave utter- 
ance to a merry peal of laughter, and, fetching a mirror, stood 
at a respectful distance, turning it a little up and a little down, 



STORY OF FIFINE. 259 

a little to the right and a little to the left, in order that he might 
get a view of his comical head-dress. He tried to persuade 
her to come nearer, but she feared vengeance for her cruelty 
and held aloof, which was the best thing she could do. 

After this she visited him as often as her occupation would 
allow until he was nearly well, when he was again abandoned 
to the care of the portress. In the last interview, however, 
Agricole obtained a promise that one Sunday, as soon as the 
doctor gave him permission to go out, " she should take him 
into the country." Such was the form of the agreement. The 
prospect of this party of pleasure seems to have rapidly set 
Agricole on his legs, and in due time he announced that the 
complete restoration of his health required nothing more nor 
less than a trip to Enghien. Fifme, who seems to have been 
peculiarly cautious, insisted that a friend should accompany 
them, under pretence that her companion might be taken ill ; 
but she pointed out, as a consolation for this disappointment, 
that Agricole was to have " the right to claim her arm." 

As I am not writing a romance I must here skip over a few 
months, which were always briefly alluded to, as if things too 
sacred to mention had then happened. The privilege of ubi- 
quity is not allowed to the narrator of this episode of unam- 
bitious life, which, I am afraid, is hardly worth telling after all. 
People do not care nowadays for stories, true or not, that have 
no " purpose" in them, and indeed require facts and adventures 
to be pre-arranged and forced into a certain order to illustrate 
some questionable moral. I am sorry for this, because, if ever I 
am persuaded again to write a romance, it shall contain only 
incidents that have really occurred, or might have occurred, to 
the real people I shall choose as " heroes ;" and if I am told 
that nothing is to be learned from what I say it will be no fault 
of mine, and I may answer that neither does nature teach any- 
thing — provided always there be no failure in the application of 
my rules. Every day there are Truths perishing around us, and 
no Artist is there to paint them. 



260 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

All that I could ever learn of the mysterious months that 
followed the visit to Enghien was, that Agricole began his attack 
upon poor Fifine's heart by being horribly jealous of her, by 
refusing to open his door when she knocked, and even by pass- 
ing her on the stairs without speaking. The charwoman spread 
vile reports that he had ruined and deserted her. Many people 
know the sins of their neighbours before they have been com- 
mitted. At length Fifine determined to have what she called 
" an explanation." The rough treatment she was subjected to 
was an imputation on her character. Let her be told of what 
she was accused, and then — the porter had already received 
notice that her lodging would be vacant next quarter-day — why, 
then, she would disappear, and accept the offer of marriage 
which M. Bouvier, the widower, whom she hated, had so often 
made her. I have reason to believe that this said M. Bouvier 
— at least as a marrying man — was a mere myth. " Do you 
think," said Fifine, " if I had received an offer from any honest 
person, after I had ceased to be a foolish girl, I should have re- 
fused ? No one would. We are all too glad to be settled in 
life for that." 

How Fifine managed to bring her eloquence to bear upon 
Agricole, who shunned her most obstinately, I do not exactly 
know. He used to say, jocularly alluding to this circumstance, 
that it was she who courted him, not he her — a remark that 
caused some tears to start ; it was, therefore, probably true to a 
certain extent. However this may be, Fifine, instead of bring- 
ing about a rupture, began soon to be " talked of" in the neigh- 
bourhood — not as having taken a criminal, but. an imprudent 
step. " For these students — they cannot be depended upon. 
After wearing out her youth, he would plant her there ; and then, 
what would become of her ? " 

It is difficult to tell a story of this kind in the proper spirit, 
without that ferocious tendency to judge harshly, which is the 
favourite sin of virtuous people, and yet without that hypocritical 



STORY OF FIFINE. 261 

benevolence, often assumed as a cloak to immorality, according 
to which it would seem, that if they that are sinless may punish 
the frail woman, they that are sinful may forgive and patronise 
her. Of course Fifine was wrong to yield, and I shall endeavour 
to show how far ; but I cannot consent to abandon her and her 
sisters who are in the same position, whatever language they 
may speak or spell badly, to the unmitigated contempt and con- 
demnation of the world. To speak the truth, Fifine obtained 
and deserved esteem and affection from many of her friends. 

I have already said how strangely her education had been 
neglected. She could read and write sufficient for her purposes 
when Agricole first knew her, and afterwards made rapid pro- 
gress ; but her mind was absolutely destitute of any acquired 
knowledge, save what might be contained in a few old songs 
which she had bought from time to time, and sewn together 
into a queer-looking volume. Agricole kept it as a curiosity. 
The songs it contained were rather maudlin in tone, but pure. 
The favourite was " Jenny VOuvriere" I think. It describes 
the virtuous grisette with some pathos. No other book that I 
could ever learn had been opened by this uncultivated girl. 
Her early companions and teachers had impressed her, it would 
seem, with a fanatical abhorrence of the clergy, whom she 
always accused of corrupting half the young girls of the country. 
Two or three little incidents of her personal experience had con- 
firmed her in this view. Yet she was not without religious 
sentiments. When the great festivals of the year came round 
she invariably went to mass, and on the rare occasions when 
she could be brought to speak on this subject confessed, with 
some emotion, that " she thought it did her good." At other 
times, when out in the fields wandering in search of wild flowers 
on Sunday, the church bells seemed to affect her disagreeably, 
and I have seen her clench her little fist and shake it in the 
direction of the importunate sounds. 

" Ask her why she did that ? " said I to Agricole. 



262 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

She was angry at having been noticed, and admitted, only 
after some teazing, that the bells reminded her of a time — a 
long while ago — it seemed as if in another life — when " she 
was not as she was then." 

" Pshaw ! " said Agricole, biting his lip ; for every allusion 
of that kind seemed to him a reproach. 

A prude person running over this narrative has remarked 
that I am wrong to admit having been on terms of familiarity 
with this young girl, when she was living in direct defiance of 
the laws of society. But at that time I regarded her simply as 
Agricole's wife, and although their union had not been sanc- 
tioned by man nor blessed by the Church, yet in every other 
respect her conduct was so irreproachable, and she was so clearly 
the victim of circumstances, that I could not find it in my heart 
to be severe. That she was guilty of a certain amount of 
moral wrong I judge, not so much from her actions — because 
all actions take their qualities from opinions, and that only in a 
human sense is reprehensible which we know to be so — but 
from the transitory fits of repentance that from time to time 
disturbed her, and prevented her life from being as happy as it 
might have been. 

Except on these rare occasions she seemed to consider her- 
self as occupying, relatively at least, a very respectable and 
praiseworthy position ; for, instead of comparing it with the 
few examples of pure wedded life which she could meet 
with in her world, she pointed with rather malicious satisfaction, 
— on one hand to the instances of conjugal infidelity that she 
knew of; on the other, to the degrading existence of the Lo- 
rette, and the Grisette that aspired to imitate that fantastic being. 
She was not only faithful to Agricole — this might have been 
prudence — but she suffered with him ; and there were traditions 
in that household of entire weeks spent without money — of the 
journeys of shawls and sheets to Mont de Piete — and even of 
whole days, during which the unfortunate couple had sat hand 



STORY OF FIFINE. 263 

in hand without breaking a crust of bread. This misery was 
caused by Agricole's imprudence, not hers ; yet she bore the 
chief brunt of it, and bravely faced, not only creditors and land- 
lords, but the gloom and ill-temper of her Master ; for in this 
light she looked upon him. A thousand familiar details here 
suggest themselves ; but this must necessarily be an imperfect 
sketch. I give it as an example, divested of the common ob- 
jectionable circumstances, of the way in which young men in 
Paris often spend a great part of their lives, and of the dan- 
gers to which the daughters of the working classes are ex- 



I must relate one or two more characteristic details of this 
union, in order that it may be made clear how such matters are 
managed in France. A good while after the memorable visit 
to Enghien — after Agricoie had bored a hole through the 
partition wall that separated him from Fifine's chamber, and 
transmitted by that means various invitations to take tea with 
him, which were at first refused, and then accepted once for all 
— after M. Bouvier had been definitively driven to despair — 
after the portress had looked wise and compassionate — the young- 
couple began to feel uncomfortable in their unrecognised po- 
sition. Madame Pinson, therefore, received a formal invita- 
tion to spend the evening at Fifine's own room, and was treated 
to a fabulous amount of hot wine. The object was, that she 
should go about and relate exactly what she saw : but she re- 
lated a great deal more ; and in a certain circle Fifine was now 
generally known as Agricole's menagere .It was long, however, 
before he came to spend all his time with her. She prudently 
determined not to give up work, and allowed her " friend " to 
come in the daytime only on condition that she should not be 
interrupted in her shirt-making, and that he should superintend 
the potatoes that were baking in the little oven of hev poele. 
Customers who dropped in to give orders, thought it queer to 
see a smart fellow with a potent moustache hanging about in 



264 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

this way ; but, of course, at once understood the relation of the 
two. An old gentleman, who had come on behalf of his wife, 
presumed on the circumstance to send Fifine an invitation to 
accompany him to the theatre, which caused a frightful scene 
of jealousy. Agricole obdurately went out, under pretence 
of visiting an uncle who had arrived in Paris; and Fifine, 
who followed him unperceived, saw him take up a post at the 
corner of the street, and keep watch, wrapped in his cloak 
like an Italian bravo. She slipped into the fruitiere's shop, 
and allowed him to cool his heels for an hour ; after which 
she invested a sou in an apple to throw at him, and always 
relates with delight how foolishly glad he looked when his 
hat was knocked off. 

The reader knows already that Agricole came up to Paris 
with but small means, and that, if Fifine had not worked, they 
would at once havefallen in to misery. As it was, his acquaint- 
ance with her was for a long time on economy. He gave up 
dining in a restaurant, and learned to live on ragoitts and salads, 
which the " neat-handed" Fifine dressed between two stitches; 
but somehow or other, he got in the habit of studying even less 
than ever, and thought he could not improve his mind better 
than by reading novels out whilst Fifine worked — it was prac- 
tice in elocution. At first, when he respected her less than 
afterwards, and thought himself merely engaged in an ordinary 
episode of student life, he chose rather highly-seasoned pictures 
of Paris manners. She did not express herself shocked, because 
she imagined that what he read must be good for her to hear ; 
but she yawned, and several times went to sleep. His vanity 
was piqued ; and he reproached her. What would he have ? 
She knew more of what was going on than the man who had writ- 
ten- that book. . Love was very good to act, but it was nonsense 
to read about it. In three minutes she would teach him more 
than he could learn from fifty volumes. 

There was no resisting this. Agricole threw away the stu- 



STORY OF FIFINE. 265 

pid novel, and a little while afterwards asked Fifine what she 
would like to be taught. "To read and write well, and to keep 
accounts ? " " Why ? Bid she want to get away from him, and 

learn to gain her living?" "No; hut " Here she burst 

out crying. He pressed her to speak the truth, and she did tell 
a part, which was this : she was tired of working with her fin- 
gers from morning until night to earn a mere nothing ; and be- 
sides, was it proper for a young man of his station to consort 
with a sempstress ? Agricole thought she was becoming idle 
and ambitious, and shook his head sadly. The real truth was, 
though Fifine dared not say so then, that she was yearning for 
an imitation, at least, of married life ; and wished to devote all 
her energies to taking care of a house and husbanding his 
money. So far, and no farther, was she ambitious. It was some 
time before her desires were realised ; for Agricole, though rap- 
turously fond of her in her presence, had not yet got rid of his 
idea that he was engaged in a mere passing amour ; and thought 
it would not be honourable to persuade or allow Fifine to throw 
up her old occupation, when, perhaps, in six months, it would be 
necessary to abandon her. On the contrary, he took every op- 
portunity to talk solemnly of the inestimable value of the habit 
of work ; " as if, " said Fifine, scornfully, relating these matters 
to me, "he ever leaves me a x moment of idleness or rest now :" 
whereupon she enumerated everything she had to do in the 
day, — to fetch bread and milk in the morning — to order in char- 
coal — to go marketing with a huge basket — to cook three meals 
— to keep the furniture shining — to make and mend all sorts of 
things, and every now and then, when Agricole's caprice prompt- 
ed, to deck herself out as a lady — to rise up in all the scrupu- 
lous cleanliness she thought indispensable to authorise her to 
take his arm, from the midst of kitchen utensils, half-finished 
gowns, socks in the process of darning, and go out to the Lux- 
embourg, to a cafe chaiitant, to a theatre, or to the country. 
Agricole had a passion for rushing out beyond the barriers just 
13 



266 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

on the very days when everybody else stopped at home. He 
would allow the summer to pass with hut few excursions ; and 
when the leaves had fallen, and frosty winds blew — actually even 
upon a week day — he would suddenly insist that, leaving all the 
household in disorder, they should set forth on foot, and wander 
away some ten miles, all along the borders of the Marne, with 
their last five-franc piece in their pocket, to be spent at Chatil- 
lon in a good dinner, not leaving enough to pay for an omnibus 
back. 

When Agricole went to Poitiers, of course he swore to 
Fifine that he would never forget the sufferings which she had 
already begun to undergo in his company. "Ah!" whispered 
the poor girl, "if that accident had not happened, I should have 
been sure you would come back to me." He assured her — 
and very sincerely, more sincerely than she liked — that he 
thought all was for the best. When he was better off, why, 
perhaps . They both laughed whilst relating this separa- 
tion, but afterwards Fifine looked very sad. As far as I could 
learn, she had undergone terrible privations when she was left 
alone. Her health had been impaired, and her dislike to her 
etat gradually increased. Secretly, no doubt, she thought — 
and in this she was quite reasonable — that a young man like 
Agricole had no right to enjoy her society in that lazy manner. 
Herein she differed from her compeers, the true grisettes, who 
are perfectly content to preserve their industrious habits, and to 
bestow themselves on the first handsome scapegrace who will 
give them a little amusement in their leisure hours. Fifine was 
too serious-minded and thoughtful to be long content to remain 
in this equivocal position ; and, during the existence of our Club, 
at length gave a proof of her resolute character. Without say- 
ing a word to Agricole, she closed up her accounts with all cus- 
tomers, realised the enormous sum of fifty francs, and stated 
calmly that she could not " wait on a man " and be an ouvri£re 
t the same time. As she dressed out in a most bewitching 



STORY OF FIFINE. 26*7 

style to make this announcement, Agricole never thought of 
uttering any objection — wondered, indeed, that he had not be- 
fore perceived how comfortable they might live together " with- 
out doing anything " — formed projects, however, of enormous 
legal studies, with Fifine by his side — and invited all his friends 
to a house-warming. 

He soon found, however, that to keep up an establishment 
on his own principles would ruin him in a week or so ; and 
that, even when he gave the management of the money entire- 
ly over to Fifine, misery soon began to come to them. As I 
have said, they suffered dreadfully — lived on potatoes and 
water for weeks. Agricole at length obtained some employ- 
ment that occupied him a few hours in the evening, and brought 
a little money. " For more than a year, however," he declar- 
ed to me, " I had the charmingest mistress in Paris, and we 
both existed on eight hundred francs." 

The most curious part of all this is, that, by degrees, M. 
and Madame Passager — who removed to a neighbourhood 
where the nature of their relations was not known — formed a 
very agreeable circle of acquaintances, partly amongst the 
humble bourgeois, partly amongst professional men. I was 
taken by them to very pleasant houses, where I heard poor 
Fifine revelling in conversation with staid matrons, boasting of 
her household triumphs, sometimes tripping in her French, or 
introducing an odd proverb that made her hearers stare, but 
behaving, on the whole, with so much propriety, that I was not 
surprised at her being a favourite. The only trace that I could 
discover of her real condition was, that she never lost any 
opportunity of expressing charitable sentiments for unhappy or 
even misconducted women. The ordinary severity of society 
— touching her so nearly — roused her into indignant eloquence ; 
and she used to maintain, what was probably almost correct, 
that all women, with some monstrous exceptions, aspired only 
to lead a decent married life : but that they were deceived, led 



268 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

astray, corrupted, and ruined, by these horrid, detestable, heart-- 
less, and demoniacal creatures, les hommes ! M. IN" whis- 
pered to me, after hearing her speak in a peculiarly emphatic 
manner, " She is not married, I swear ; but so long as my wife 
suspects nothing, what matters it ? I wish half the virtuous 
ladies I know were as good company for my daughters." 

I must not, however, linger too long on the minor incidents 
of this narrative. 

There was one proud day in Fifine's life. An important- 
looking letter arrived from an avoue living in the Rue Saint 
Honore, requesting her to call upon him on business. She was 
quite bewildered, but dressed out in her best and went with 
Agricole, who remained without, smoking his cigar, on the 
pavement, and wishing he had gone in ; for who knows 
whether the letter was not a snare ? In about half-an-hour 
Fifine came running out breathless to him, and announced, in 
a solemn tone of voice, that she was an heiress ! He thought 
she was mad, but soon learned the facts, which were these : 
her mother had been possessed, of some property, which her 
father, living in a remote province, had until that time made 
use of. Now, however, her brother and sister, having come of 
age, had caused an estimate to be made, and had discovered 
that the two children were each entitled to a "bien" or piece 
of property, which would produce the enormous sum of five 
hundred francs, or twenty pounds sterling per annum. The 
object of the avoue — an elderly, quiet gentleman, as she took 
care to observe — was to request her to sign a power of attorney, 
without which the proper steps could not be taken. "And 
what have you done ? " inquired Agricole, who began to feel 
a little annoyed that Fifine would no longer be absolutely de- 
pendent upon him. "I have refused to sign anything," said 
Fifine, " because I don't understand business. I must write to 
, and ask for explanations." 

That was not the proud day I have mentioned. It came 



STORY OF FIFINE. 269 ' 

many months subsequently, when, after an interminable corres- 
pondence, Fifine understood that her brother and sister were 
pressing their father, whom she never remembered to have seen, 
very hard, arid that, if he were compelled to give up the pro- 
perty, he would be obliged to take to work again in his old age. 
" He has never done anything for me that I can remember," 
said she ; " but he is my father. Let him keep the money as 
long as he lives. I will trust to you, Agricole." Accordingly, 
she went down to her native place, and announced her inten- 
tions, and pursuaded her brother and sister to agree with her. 
Many apocryphal accounts are in circulation, I am sure, con- 
cerning that wondrous journey. Fifine, who thought it neces- 
sary, perhaps, to enhance her own importance, is supposed to 
have been received with enthusiasm, treated . as a great lady 
from Paris, and pestered with offers of marriage. An authentic 
proposal, from the director of a gas company, is on record. 
Nobody seems to have inquired or cared how a young woman, 
" living as a bachelor " in Paris, could have got on so long with- 
out assistance. Provincials have vague ideas in that respect. 
I mistake : her father did say to her, with a cunning look, 
"Of course you have an acquaintance. Tell us what he is like 
— tall, short, black, or brown ? " Other people pestered her 
sometimes with questions ; but she affected great demureness, 
and stated that she occupied the distinguished position of 
femme de chamhre (confidential) in a Russian nobleman's fam- 
ily. She was rather proud of this flight of imagination. 

In due time she returned to Agricole. It was after this inci- 
dent that he, endeavouring to follow out his preconceived plan, 
tried to break with her. He had already abandoned her once 
before, driven by misery, when he went back to Poitiers. This 
time he seriously thought that it would be better for her, as for 
him, that they should separate ; and turning the matter calmly 
over in his mind, and comparing his case with that of many of 
his friends, it seemed to him that the moment had arrived at 



2*70 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

which the inevitable catastrophe might be brought about with- 
out much suffering on either side. He was so accustomed to 
Fifine's society, that he could not realise the discomfort of being 
deprived of her. For several months, too, without having suf- 
fered again the extreme of poverty, they had been very hard 
pushed for the means of existence. There had been ill-temper 
on both sides, some bickering, a few reproaches, one scene of 
bitter recrimination. Fifine had casually remarked that she 
was " not of a temper to break her heart for any man," which 
assurance made Agricole breathe more freely ; for his great 
fear was, that, after the approved fashion of novels and plays, 
the cast-off girl would commit some desperate action as soon as 
she felt solitude close in around her, as soon as she had no one 
to scold, no one to serve, no one to suffer for and with. He 
began to believe in the elasticity of the female character, and 
the versatility of the female heart ; and, for the first time, tried 
to persuade himself of the truth of what in base moments he 
had said to his friends as an excuse for what he meditated, 
namely, that there was a cloud over the girl's early history. 
What if there were ? What right had he, in addition to all 
the other joys he had found in that unlawful union, to suppose 
that absolute purity had fallen into his arms ? Then he would 
lean his face upon his hands, and think, and picture the past, 
and smile, and laugh, and have faith ; and when Fifine came 
in, flushed and sparkling with health, from some marketing ex- 
pedition, quite unconscious that her destiny had formed the 
subject of his thoughts, he would take her in his arms, in a 
paroxysm of extempore affection, and leave her to marvel what 
might be the reason of what had become so rare of late. 

At length her instinct told her of what was passing in his 
mind. This was some time after the breaking up of the Club 
sans Gene, when Agricole began to repent of having, to a great 
extent, abandoned the independent life of a student to live as a 
sort of sham married man. A month or two had passed in 



STORY OF FIFINE. 27 I 

jollity and junketing, in laughter and all manner of fondness. 
Then came a reaction — a period of gioom, in which the weak- 
willed student looked upon himself almost as a dupe. This 
was an unhappy season for Fifine. She never complained, or 
sought an explanation ; but redoubled her attention to Agri- 
cole's comforts, whilst diminishing her manifestations of love. 
She often alluded generally to her precarious position — said, 
with a forced laugh, that she kn3w it must come to an end — 
that Agricole's parents might wish him to marry — that, of 
course, he would do so — that, in that case, she would not be 
embarrassed — she would never trust man more — she would re- 
turn to work : it is true she had forgotten her own trade, arid 
did not like it, but it was easy to learn another — her present 
mode of life was anything but an idle one — at any rate, no 
one should accuse her of imploring the assistance of one who 
abandoned her. These painful remarks were sometimes made 
in the presence of Agricole, who pretended not to notice their 
bearing, and went on, it appears, planning his liberation, though 
without any positive idea of carrying it out within a definite 
period. 

A scheme of this kind is rarely formed without leading to 
an explosion. Its presence in a household of that kind, how- 
ever pent in, must bring gloom and restraint along with it. 
Even a stranger could notice that two sets of thought were at 
work — that both were wretchedly meditating on the destiny of 
their lives. 

One day, at length, the unhappy couple had a great quarrel 
about some mere trifle. The matter took its importance from 
their excitable and irritable state of mind. I met Fifine in the 
street next morning. She tried to look impudent, and to say, 
in an off-hand manner, "It is all over : I am free." I knew 
what had been talked of, and was rather surprised to see her 
take matters so easily. Indeed, my first feeling was anger. 
She chatted a few moments about indifferent matters, and then 



2*72 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

asked me to go and see Agricole, " whom she knew to be very 
ill." Afterwards becoming more and more serious, and with 
trouble suppressing a good cry— a weakness that would have 
made her ashamed for ever — she told me that they had fallen 
out desperately, and that, in a moment of passion, he had told 
her that he wished to marry " some respectable woman," and 
that his father had written to him, proposing the hand of a lady 
comme il faut. He also said some kind things to Fifine N , had 
proposed to settle an annuity on her, and, indeed, had revealed 
all the matter of his thoughts for many months past. Grief 
and fear soon cured her of her own passion, and she listened 
calmly to what he had to say. But, with consummate pru- 
dence — having called upon the Bon Dieu now that she was 
cast away from shore, and felt herself drifting out alone into 
the sea of life — she determined not to implore for mercy. Ac- 
cording to her philosophy, men never relent towards a woman 
on her knees, but, on the contrary, despise her. Abruptly, then, 
to his amazement, she told him, with some contempt, that she, 
too, had made up her mind to a separation, and absolutely drove 
him, with a storm of reproaches, from the house. " He has 
written to me," she said, " begging permission to ask my par- 
don, and explain himself; but (here she began once more to 
play a part, though yet uncertain whether events would not 
compel her to abide by it) I don't want to see him. The most 
painful part is past ; at any rate, no one shall see me suffer for 
the future. If I were to meet him, I might after all fall on my 
knees, and ask him to return to me for a little while longer. I 
may die soon, and then he would be free in an honourable man- 
ner. But it is best as it is." 

I pitied her exceedingly, and went to Agricole's room. He 
was in bed with his coat on, smoking a pipe, and tried to re- 
ceive me cheerfully. " Of course you know the news," said he. 
" Fifine has broken with me." He seemed not sorry to throw 
the fault upon her. I scarcely knew what to say, and was not 



STORY OF FIFINE. 2*73 

quite sure whether I ought to work for a reconciliation or not. 
The world would certainly have cried — even the most humane 
part of it — that things could not have come to pass in a better 
manner. Here was a couple, who had lived unlawfully together 
for a long time, separated by accident, as they must have sepa- 
rated sooner or later. Neither party talked of despair or suicide. 
There was, of course, a little grief, a little pain to soothe. Peo- 
ple who have lived together, united by the bonds only of affec- 
tion, and despite public opinion, cannot separate without some 
pangs. Both parties, however, seemed to be reasonable. Their 
conduct was quite creditable, especially Agricole's. Poor young 
man ! he had the best intentions. He had offered to assist his 
discarded mistress as long as he lived ; although, to be sure, he 
had no particular resources just at that moment. On the other 
hand, Fifine evinced great good sense, even coldness ; which is, 
fortunately, a characteristic of that kind of girl. She had no 
intention of creating a scandal, and really deserved to be re- 
warded. Besides, she had spent some years with a young man 
much superior to herself in family and position. This would be 
something to remember. She was still quite good enough to 
become the wife of a respectable workman, " who would take 
her as a widow." She had made stories for her after-years, 
that was all. Half a century hence she might be singing with 
sly looks and merry voice, "Combienje regrette mon bras dodu" 
&c. ; and if, as stanza succeeded stanza, memories of these 
young times did come over her, Agricole would then, in 
the silence of her passions, appear as a noble-minded young- 
man, who had led her astray, it is true, but who had repaired 
his fault as far as his position would allow him bj living with 
her in a decent way, by indulging her in some happy moments, 
and by caring for her afterwards, when, in accordance with the 
usages of society, he found it necessary to become respectable, 
and take an officially recognized partner. Besides, whispers 
some M. Croquignole, it is not absolutely necessary that the two 
13* 



2*74 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

should never see one another again. When each is settled in 
life, the acquaintance may be renewed, and all these foolish 
tears smiled away. 

I am not quite satisfied that, in the present case, any of these 
remarks were applicable, and so resolved to plead neither one 
cause nor the other. It was evident that Agricole was very mise- 
rable. He was pale and dirty. Everything was in disorder. There 
were four five-franc pieces on the table. He had wished to 
leave two with Fifine, but she had refused. Nothing could be 
more deplorable than the state of the room. It had scarcely 
been visited for six months above once a-week ; for it was mere- 
ly intended to keep up appearances in case any country cousin 
came to Paris. Agricole had long ago lived elsewhere. He 
laid particular stress on his lonely condition, with reference to 
its influence on his comforts ; and tried to excite my sympathy 
by detailing the impossibility he should be under of ever look- 
ing decent again, of ever getting his things in order, or of find- 
ing any decent food. There never was a widower half so for- 
lorn as a married bachelor thrust back suddenly into pure bach- 
elorship. I laughed at all these complaints, which I knew to 
be a sort of shame-faced way of expressing how miserable he 
really was, and did not reply to the question, " What does she 
say of me ? " At length, seeing that I obstinately remained 
silent, he exclaimed, fiercely, " I can't spend my life in this 
state : it is of no use arguing with me : I must settle ; I want 

to be surrounded by a family of children, in fact but I 

shall never find any woman like Fifine." 

He talked wildly for some time, and rather sank in my es- 
timation than otherwise. What restored him to my good 
graces was the admission that he had stolen a small packet of 
things, which I need not enumerate : one of them, however, 
was the " tail of hair," as he called it, which Fifine had lost on 
the occasion when she was very near being united to him by a 
tie that would have been indissoluble. He took them out from 



STORY OF FIFINE. 2*75 

under his pillow, and fell to crying as he counted them over. 
All this is very incomprehensible, no doubt, to those who do 
not know the deeper mysteries of the affections, and how the 
soul may bound hack irresistibly towards an object which had 
seemed to become indifferent. I cannot philosophise on this 
point, but must confess that my eyes tingled to see this poor 
fellow struggling between two impulses of equal strength ; and 
that I more than once felt inclined to assist the promptings of 
habit or love, and beg him to go to Fifine. 

The poor girl herself had at once set about fitting herself 
to her new position. She got employment the next day at a 
glove-sewer's, and had fair prospects of earning fifteen sous by 
almost as many hours' work. Somehow or other, she said, her 
eyes were not so sharp as formerly ; of course not — she must have 
spent half the night, perhaps all, in crying. This, however, I 
could not bring her to acknowledge. Madame Pinson, who 
had rallied round her in her disaster, having been frowned away 
formerly. by Agricole, protested she was the greatest fool in the 
universe. Why should she fret about an ungrateful wretch, and 
why exhaust her health in such miserable work ? An " eligi- 
ble party " might be found. I was sorry to see poor Fifine al- 
ready in a struggle with bad advisers. She paid no attention, 
however, to her insidious cousin, and went on asking me news 
of " the friend." She had just convinced herself that he was 
actuated by the very best intentions — remembered that he had 
often warned her that this must come to pass — withdrew her 
accusation of treachery. " And yet," said she, " is it not very 
hard that, without being charged with any fault, — when I have 
done my duty to the utmost, cared for him when he was sick, 
and fasted with him when he was poor ? — Yes, it is very hard 
to be thrown away like an old rag. I know I am not a virtu- 
ous girl, but, if Agricole marries, his wife will make him — so." 
I could not help laughing at her droll gesture, which reminded 
me of a song in " As you Like it." She laughed herself, and 



276 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

explained that " the friend " was not so easy to manage as I 
supposed ; that he had his whims, and his fancies, and his od- 
dities, and that, in her opinion, no married woman ever did so 
much for her husband as she had done, and had meant to do, for 
" the ungrateful one," as she now and then called him. That was 
not the time to dispute with her whether or not it was absolute- 
ly necessary for husband and wife to be indifferent one to the 
other. I suggested that she ought to answer Agricole's letters. 
" Perhaps so," she said ; but would he not now notice her bad 
spelling, which he had never done before ? She did not wish 
to leave a mean impression on his memory. 

Matters went on this way for several days. Agricole re- 
mained in his room without ever stirring out, without undress- 
ing or washing — almost without food. I told him one evening 
that this was exaggeration, and that it would be better to return 
and live in his old way until he felt strength of mind to sepa- 
rate in a proper manner. He did not answer, but asked if I 
would take him to the theatre. I assisted him to dress, for he 
was very weak. He walked down-stairs, supporting himself on 
a cane. When we got into the dark street he took my arm, 
and pressed it rather convulsively, as he said, " Don't look at my 
face. This is all very foolish, but I am not going to the theatre ; 
I am going to see Fifine." 

I knew it long before, when I saw him so eager to go out. 
We went slowly, for the open air made him dizzy and weak. 
He made me cross the street when he came near the house, and 
showed me that Fifine's window could be descried from a place 
he well knew, where he used to stop as he returned home late 
at night, and see that she was waiting up for him. The sha- 
dow of a head bent, as if in the attitude of sewing, could be 
seen on the curtain. 

" I sha'n't allow this," said Agricole, resuming the tone of a 
master. However, he could scarce muster courage to ascend, 
and begged me to speak to the porter for him as we passed* 



STORY OF FIFINE. 2*77 

When we got up-stairs we found the door of the little apart- 
ment not locked, and went in softly. " Go first," whispered 
Agricole, pushing me as I hesitated in the diminutive ante- 
chamber. I looked in, and saw that the poor girl had fallen 
asleep over a glove ; exhausted, no doubt, by long watching. 
Her chin was knocking against her breast as she poised herself, 
with a remnant of consciousness, on her chair. Agricole, some- 
how or other, got upon his knees by her side. I think he drag- 
ged himself across the room in that position, and began kiss- 
ing her hand. She got it loose, and pushed away his head, 
burying her white fingers in his great locks of hair. Suddenly 
her eyes opened, and never did I see a brighter glance of delight? 
or hear a more joyous cry. They never noticed my presence, 
and so I went softly away. Nor did I see them for many days 
afterwards ; for their reconciliation lasted an immense time. 
They sent for me to tea one evening, and appeared quite as hap- 
py as ever they had been ; — Agricole more so, indeed, for he 
had got rid of some of the qualms which he had felt about the 
impropriety of his position. As for Fifine, she talked, and 
laughed, and sang louder than usual ; but every time I saw her 
after that, there was an uneasiness in her manner that made 
me uneasy. At one time, even, I thought she was unforgiving, 
and nourished some thoughts of revenge ; but there was so 
much kindness and devotion in her tone when she spoke to 
Agricole, that this idea soon vanished. 

From that time forward it appears there was not a shadow 
to trouble the serenity of their union, until, at last, Fifine be- 
came very ill. She fancied at once that she had " a ball of 
water on her chest." The truth is, she was attacked by a kind 
of consumption. I was away from the country part of the 
time. Besides, Agricole and she had gone to a great distance 
off to live ; and for I believe a year I only saw them occasion- 
ally, once or twice. When we went to the ball at the Opera, 
the disease had already made some progress ; but Fifine never 



2*78 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

looked so pretty or so delicate. Nothing suggested any idea of 
danger. For many reasons I was, happily, not a witness to the 
rapid decline of her strength. I remember, however, going to 
see her once in the spring, and found her sitting in her arm- 
chair at the open window, looking at some flower-pots upon 
which the sun was shining brightly, and listening to a bird that 
chirped upon the roof. Agricole was away, and she begged 
me to wait till his return. I was shocked at the paleness and 
angularity of her countenance. She seems to have had no sus- 
picion of her fate — at least, would acknowledge none. She 
told me that in a week it was expected that her convalescence 
would begin, and that she was to ride out in a carriage to the 
Champs Elysees. I am not fond of lingering on these melan- 
choly interviews. Poor Fifine ! She asked me to go and buy 
her a doll, Agricole having no money just then. It would 
amuse her to make its dresses whilst she was getting well. I 
walked to the Passage Jouffroy, and soon returned with the 
toy. Agricole, who had come in, tried to thank me ; but his 
lips quivered. Like myself, he saw in this going back to the 
tastes of childhood something like a fatal sign. Fifine thanked 
me very warmly, and at once began cutting up an old silk 
gown and some other articles of dress, " which she should never 
want again — because Agricole would give his petite quantities 
of new things, to reward her for getting well." The poor fel- 
low took me into the next room, under pretence of showing me 
a pipe which he had blackened most successfully; but, in 
reality, to throw himself into a chair and sob like a child. I 
turned away, and, peeping through the window, saw Fifine 
hugging the doll against her bosom, and rocking herself to and 
fro in her arm-chair with a childish smile upon her counte- 
nance. 

There was clearly no hope. I returned two or three times 
more, and then was suddenly chained to my room by a press 
of business. One day I received a large black-edged envelope. 



STORY OF FIFINE. 2*79 

and, opening it with some anxiety, found therein the words, — 
"You are requested to attend the funeral of Mademoiselle 

Josephine , which will take place to-morrow," &c. &c. I 

should feel more comfortable in thinking of this story if I had 
been able to show my respect for this unhappy girl by follow- 
ing her to her grave ; but something that appeared more 
important then, and seems quite trivial now, prevented me. 
Agricole soon came to see me — very pale, and subdued ; and 
after a little sad talk said, in a husky tone of voice, " You try 
to persuade me that I have nothing to reproach myself with : 
but, to tell you the truth, I believe she died out of the wayP 
He is still pretending to 'study, and as he has not yet taken a 
new mistress, may at last make some progress in knowledge. 
He will probably marry one of these days, and talk lightly of 
" his youthful follies." How long will it be before we learn 
that a being with an immortal soul is not the rattle with which 
we are permitted to make short and pleasant our early years ? 



CHAPTER XIX. 

Feminine Organisation of the French — Ethical Theories— Philosophical Skeptics— 
Keligion and Morals — Feeling of Shame — Eules of Conduct — The Church and 
the Philosophers — Young Men Adrift — Students, how their Morals are Influ- 
enced — A Simple Narrative— Mademoiselle Pauline— Influence of the Boulevard 
Ladies — A Heart in Danger — A Knotty Question for the Law — Pauline at large — 
A new Friend — A Separation — An Arrangement — Influence of a Breakfast on 
Misery — Meeting in a Crowd — Marriage in Sight — Pauline and the People — Eise 
of Aristocracies — Origin of Prevalent Ideas about Women— Noble Paternity of 
Vice— The Porter's Bell — Financiers— A Queer Family— Seeing Life— Mothers 
and Sons — Illegitimate Children — Foundling Hospitals — Trade of Child-Exposers 
— Influence of Climate on Morality — Beauty of Natural Children — Example of the 
Old— Inheritance of the Past— M. Croquignole again— "Who pays for the Toilettes 
at Longchamps? — A Plea for Education— Art of Government — Moralising by 
Force — Danger of Virtue — An over-zealous Bishop. 

Every man in France — if I may judge from my experience 
and the whole tone of literature — has sought for a Fifine in his 
youth, or found an Adele in his riper years. In conversation 
and writing people generally use the plural form, and enume- 
rate their mistresses, brown and fair, with the complacency of 
Master Abraham Cowley. Frenchmen will scarcely deny this 
statement. They like to appear in the character of conquering 
heroes. Mars is their model ; and they are not averse to being 
caught in a net, that the resemblance may be complete. In no 
country, perhaps, do women exercise a greater influence in 
moulding the ductile materials of character. It has already 
been said that there is something feminine, not only in the 
minds, but in the physical organisation, of the French. Medi- 
cal observers tell us, that the female sex lives more by the 



FRENCH CHARACTER. 281 

lungs— that is, "upon air" — than the male; and, pushing 
their speculations into the domain of fancy, add, that this is the 
case with the whole Gallic, as compared with the Germanic 
family. They aver that a Frenchman naturally requires less 
nourishment than we do ; and state a fact, which I hardly 
know how to repeat, namely, that we have one foot more of con- 
tinent than they. It is not surprising that after this the vulgar 
should believe that Englishmen are always eating. 

In describing the formation of the French character,. it is 
not necessary to insist much more than I have already done on 
the details of formal education. The real education of us all 
is, the experience we gain in early life of the rules according to 
which the majority of men govern their conduct. The theories 
of ethics current in any age receive rather than impart influence ■ 
and this is the reason why religions are required to drive the 
world by menace, or attract it by promise, into the right path. 
Calm thinkers have often been puzzled by what appears to 
them a remarkable phenomenon in the history of the human 
mind — namely, that some of the best of men, quite irreproach- 
able in manners, have not only been without the religious senti- 
ment, but have been eager to destroy it in others. Their error 
seems to have arisen from an extreme appreciation of the beauty 
and an exaggerated estimate of the power of ethical truths. Not 
perceiving that these truths are of divine origin — being a sub- 
lime elaboration from the nature of things — they have made of 
them, as it were, mental idols — have worshipped them and 
obeyed their behests — and have wondered and grieved that the 
rest of mankind could not be satisfied with what satisfied them. 
If we carefully analyse their state of mind, however, we shall 
perhaps be convinced of what it is natural to suppose, that 
though they are not fit objects for the fury of bigots, or the 
contempt of those who have a brighter faith, they are scarcely 
without blame. They omit to seek in circumstances, or in a 
happy constitution of mind and body, for an explanation of the 



282 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

easy obedience they pay to laws which are immediately bene- 
ficial and agreeably imperative to them ; and do not cultivate 
the sympathies by means of which they might divine the suf- 
ferings of natures more impetuous, more loving, more greedy 
of enjoyment — above all, more tempted in the struggles of the 
world, and therefore more in want of guidance and of comfort. 
These men, correct and estimable as they are, are generally 
cold and disdainful of mankind. 

.When the influence of religion is weak, or diverted by hu- 
man subtleties, it is really surprising to see the debility of ethi- 
cal theories. In every country we may take our opinion of the 
state of morals from the moralist in vogue. La Rochefoucault 
might have written ; but he would not have been read under a 
republic presided over by Washington. In France the opinions 
of society are, perhaps, more directly than in any other, derived 
from e very-day practice. Most men, when they have taken a 
wrong step, endeavour to conceal it ; and though this conduct is 
open to the charge of hypocrisy, yet the result is good : for 
principles remain comparatively untouched, and the authority 
of parents, relatives, and friends, upon the young — that of one 
generation upon another — is unimpaired. The French are too 
vain to act in this wise. Being but slightly endowed with the 
feeling of shame, which they consider ridiculous, they often 
allow their life to be visible up to the limits of etiquette, and 
invent or adopt maxims to justify their acts. The extravagant 
ideas and situations which shock us in French literature, are 
often not the product of drunken dreams, but apologies either 
for what has been done or for what is desired. 

The student, therefore, as soon as he has left his family or 
his preceptor, and finds himself in contact with the world, nat- 
urally begins to frame his acts and opinions by example rather 
than according to precept — the assistance of which, however, he 
does not wilfully decline. Nothing is so difficult as the appli- 
cation of a rule of conduct or a rule of art. All who aspire to 



ETHICAL THEORIES. 283 

write have studied — though, with an ingratitude which is part 
of their instruction, they rarely confess as much — the lessons of 
the rhetorical masters. But how many years pass away — 
what struggles of intellect are gone through — before they can 
pour a single thought into the mould which Art has prepared ! 
Here, however, we have only to contend with the difficulty of 
adapting inert material to fitting forms. In life, not only have 
we to find what truth applies to what action, but we see coming 
reality through the disguising medium of our passions and 
fancy, and know what it is only when it has gone by. Few, 
therefore, shape their conduct according to theories ; all, more 
or less, intimate. 

In France, as we have seen, the prejudices of childhood are 
inculcated by the Catholic Church, which seems to allow much 
sin that there may be much forgiveness, and derives the sanc- 
tion of all actions from itself; or by the materialist philosophers 
of the schools, who indirectly- exclude the idea of sin to substi- 
tute that of criminality : which substitution tends to the destruc- 
tion of all religions — of all morality — and consequently, of all 
freedom and civilisation. It is curious to see Absolutists and 
Liberals uniting to sap the bases of the notion of right, because 
it is incompatible with their pretensions and their theories. 
Prepared thus, young men are " set adrift in the world," as people 
say : that is, they at once begin to enter into all manner of re- 
lations with their fellow-creatures, and are called upon, undei 
pain of ridicule, of discomfort, of loss of friends, of disappoint 
ment, perhaps of ruin, to adapt themselves at once, in a greater 
or less degree, to the ways of society. A few are shocked by 
the divergence of practice from precept — hold up their hands 
because selfishness, not sacrifice, is the order of the day — and 
become hermits, madmen, or reformers. The majority do as 
others do. Some push matters to their extreme consequences 
— boldly develope all the principles of egotism — look upon 
mankind as their prey — and ascend to the Scaffold or the 
Throne. 



284 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

The greater number, however, as I have said, whilst pur- 
suing knowledge as a means of distinction or profit, square their 
lives according to prevalent practice. Most students are en- 
tirely removed, not only from family life, but from the more 
regulated regions of society ; and led by taste, love of adven- 
ture, or necessity, find or form circles, into which, they carry 
their poetry and enthusiasm, but from which they take incorrect 
notions of behaviour. I have already said a good deal of their 
manners and mode of life. At present it will be well to pursue 
the vein opened in a previous chapter, and show under what 
circumstances young men acquire their most important notions 
of morality. This will be a great step towards a right compre- 
hension both, of the present state of things in France and of the 
character of the nation in general. Indeed, without an accurate 
knowledge of the social position of women, and the forms of 
intercourse with them, it is impossible to trace the origin of the 
mental revolutions that precede and cause political revolutions. 

I shall begin with a simple narrative, which I have con- 
structed conscientiously, as if it were to be the basis of a judicial 
decision. What cross-questioning and criticism were necessary 
to dig these materials out of the mine of reality ! It would 
have been easy to round off and adorn ; but, although I admit 
that the truth of art is sometimes truer than the truth of fact, 
yet as illustrations of manners, the anecdotes with which I strew 
these pages would be perfectly valueless if not scrupulously exact. 
I have generally abstained from borrowing instances, because I 
never could be sure what touches were to be attributed to 
imagination, what details were divined, and what simply re- 
ported. To be opulent in illustrations of this kind, I have 
written down partial biographies of most of the persons with 
whom I have come in contact ; but I have not used them 
unless, opportunities of verification having been given, I could 
xonvince myself of their general truth. Real life is a succession 
of very simple incidents, so slowly developed that the actors 



MADEMOISELLE PAULINE. 285 

cannot see the points of interest, and hesitate doubtfully whether 
to enumerate every meal, or to suppress everything but a mar- 
riage or a death. The people, when repeating traditions, in all 
countries have a wonderful way of concealing, as it were, men- 
tal history under material facts. It is sometimes difficult to 
strike at the real sense of what they say. In the same manner, 
when you ask unartificial men or women to tell what has hap- 
pened to them, they often insist on points that serve them as 
tokens by which to remember. 

Pauline came up from the country many years ago, imme- 
diately after her first communion — when she was dressed in a 
white frock, often made the text of allegorical regrets — and was 
apprenticed to a fashionable milliner established on the Boule- 
vards, " in the second house from a certain street, exactly oppo- 
site the place where an accident happened in the year 18 — ," 
&c. For six months she had twenty times the cause of com- 
plaint that had Ruth Hilton ; that is, was ill-fed, over-worked, 
and sometimes beaten. She soon began to repine at her condi- 
tion, and to look with contempt — this is her own statement, and 
no doubt true — on her simple cotton-print gown. Every time 
she went out in the evening she saw streaming along the 
Boulevards, dressed in silks, and satins, and cachemires, fine 
ladies, upon whom virtuous women looked with curiosity and 
dislike, and elegant men with admiration and familiarity. The 
whole tone of what society Pauline saw tended to develope her 
irregular impulses. She learned that the world despised not 
vice itself, but only ill-dressed vice. If she had been in another 
country and another class, she might have heard the most vir- 
tuous of women lingering dangerously in their talk on the inci- 
dents of royal amours. As it was, she only perceived that the 
plainly-clothed grisette was spoken of with contempt, whilst the 
dashing Lorette inspired a certain amount of respect. She was 
" a thing," the other a lady. « - 

At this juncture the husband of Pauline's mistress — or 



286 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

rather Monsieur, as he was called : he who generally lived with 
Madame — cast eyes upon her and coveted her. He began by 
presents of lollypops and ended by promise of a gown, — a silk 
gown with flounces, and a bonnet to match. In this way he 
threw her mind into a strange flutter. I was glad to receive so 
frank a confession, because a certain class of ladies, who have 
given the cue to some romancers, torment us with the idea that 
absolute purity, suddenly, by some abominable act, is often de- 
stroyed. All things are possible ; but Pauline's account is more 
in accordance with nature. She admits that, in the absence of 
moral teaching, she began, without being conscious of what was 
taking place, to doubt the value of the few principles she pos- 
sessed. What followed might have been brought before a 
jury, who would, of course, have acquitted ; though women, 
who know the mysteries of their own nature, and say that even 
the mind may be violated, would have unmercifully condemned. 
In France, after the age of fifteen, a young girl's honour is en- 
tirely in her own keeping; and the law recognises no such crimes 
as seduction or breach of promise of marriage, nor does it allow 
paternity to be proved by oath or testimony. It would seem 
as if the code had been constructed for the protection of men 
of pleasure. Our Legislature has tried to escape this reproach, 
but there still, even with us, remains much to be done. 

Next day Pauline ran away from the house, wandered about 
until she was hungry, thought of leaping into the Seine, and 
took a much more unfortunate step. Three months afterwards? 
however, she was rescued by a medical student, a friend of Ag- 
ricole's, who took her away and provided for her. During 
several years they lived together in that gipsy way which the 
French student has invented — feasting one day and starving 
another, alternating from shower to sunshine, until the time had 
passed when, according to the nature of things, their connexion 
was to come to a close. This bon temps — this period of jollity 
— might have lasted a year or so longer, had not Georges ex- 



AN EPISODE. 287 

hausted the patience or the resources of his parents by extra- 
vagance. They professed themselves satisfied that he had at- 
attained a proficiency in his art that would enable him to take 
charge of the health of the mountainous district in which he 
was born — where people died only of old age. Now it hap- 
pened, that during the early term of their union M. Georges 
had caused his Pauline to go through the necessary course of 
studies to fit her to take a diploma as a sage-femme. When, 
therefore, in order to compel him to return home, his parents 
withdrew his monthly allowance, he rebelled at first, and re- 
solved to live in Paris by his wits ; whilst she determined to 
help by carrying on her profession. Thus they managed to 
rub on together for some time ; and as I happened to see them 
in a moment of good fortune, it appeared to me that there 
never was a happier couple. But they were both of extrava- 
gant habits — both fond of pleasure ; and Pauline was oftener 
found at the Chaumiere than in attendance on the industrious 
mothers of the neighbourhood. The consequence may be fore- 
seen. Within six months all their furniture was sold, their clothes 
were pawned, and debts had accumulated ; so that, after sulking 
for a week, during which he remained at home, without a coat 
to his back, and after alluding several times to suicide, Georges 
came one morning to Pauline, and took both her hands in his, 
and cried, and sobbed, and asked her to give him an old shawl 
to wrap round his shoulders, that he might go that cold wintry 
night to a friend of his father's and borrow money sufficient to 
pay his fare in the diligence to T — — . He had done his best, 
he said, to provide for her, and had failed. Alphonse had been 
with him that morning, and they had agreed on a project for 
the future. No matter what it was ! Would she forgive him ? 
This is a period which the grisette always foresees. Pauline 
remained in hysterics only five minutes. Then they embraced, 
and Georges went away wrapped in the old shawl, and return- 
ed to eat the fatted calf in his native mountains. 

So far this is an ordinary episode in a student's life, and 



288 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

Pauline was not more unfortunate than her sisters. Indeed she 
had grounds for gratitude to Georges for having withdrawn 
her from an abyss. It appears, however, that the allusion to 
Alphonse revealed that he had advanced one step too far in 
what is called knowledge of the world. That young man, who 
had emptied many a bottle of champagne with Pauline and 
her master, came in due time, and said that an old friend of his, 
a lawyer's clerk, wanted a companion. He was of delicate 
health, but had a fair income. Would she breakfast with him 
at one o clock that day ? Pauline fainted ; but admits that she 
recovered in time to be dressed by half-past twelve. Her new 
acquaintance was handsome and foolish-looking. The wine 
flowed freely. She mixed a few tears with it as she told her story. 
But she had no definite means of livelihood, and was without 
courage to fight the fight of life alone. A morganitic marriage 
was soon agreed upon. It was celebrated in the thirteenth 

quarter of Paris. I had lost sight of her ; and when M. 

introduced me to " his wife," — sa femme : the expression is 
beautifully equivocal in French ; so equivocal , that vulgar people 
say " my spouse ;" — when, I say, I met Pauline in another po- 
sition, some years afterwards, I had not yet learned how she had 
become a widow, nor was I indiscreet enough to inquire. My 
presence, however, recalled old times. She spoke of Georges 
at the first opportunity with a trembling voice, and frankly ad- 
mitted that she had met him once in the street, handsomely 

dressed, and had accepted an invitation to dinner. M. 

found out this meeting, and beat his lady rather severely ; but 
she swore to him as to me, with a twinkle of confession, it is 
true, in her eyes, that the only crime of which she was guilty 
was to remember and weep over the days of her youth, when 
calculation entered not into her love, and when potatoes and 
salt eaten on a board supported by two pair of knees seemed 
more delightful to her than a royal banquet. I have since 
learned that M. has made a great advance in the world, 



"the newcomes." 289 

and that Pauline queens it in a handsome apartment, has a 
bonne, and is aspiring to marriage. 

Her aspiration is not unreasonable. I consider it to be 
rather creditable to the French than otherwise, that in many 
cases where an irregular union produces children, the law is 
called in to sanction the marriage which has already really 
taken place. As this does not happen until habit has rendered 
the couple inseparable, neither party is afterwards visited by 
regret. These marriages are, in fact, generally happy, if that 
name can be applied to the content, the absence of turbulent 
desires and wishes, which characterises those who, having ex- 
hausted their hearts in youth, find enjoyment in the cessation 
of pain and labour, relish small comforts and domestic triumphs, 
and can remember the past without any marked regret or 
retro-active jealousy. 

It is a curious illustration of the origin of the aristocratic 
feeling that poor Pauline, who may be said almost to have been 
dragged through all the kennels of Paris, as soon as she was 
installed in a respectable apartment began to speak with con- 
tempt of " the people — "ce vilain pewple! n Of course, she is 
now a violent advocate of the Empire ; and there is no reason 
if this state of things lasts, why she should not found a noble 
family, and be remembered in tradition. Under Napoleon I., 
as it has already been remarked, the nobility of the sword were 
often accompanied by ladies whose language betrayed their 
origin. The wife of a Marechal used to employ an expression 
equivalent to " Here's a go ! " in English ; and in the present 

day the Princess has been heard to say (a free translation), 

" Where is them tables ? " However, there is no reason why 
such mothers should not produce heroic descendants, since it is 
highly probable that most aristocracies have sprung from simi- 
lar " Newcomes." 

From what I have said, it will be seen that it is as impos- 
sible to describe French manners without speaking of the sys- 
14 



290 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

tern of having mistresses, as it is to describe the East without 
alluding to polygamy. The system itself has its origin more in 
tradition and custom than in temperament. It is a heritage 
left by the old monarchy, whose partisans may now enjoy the 
malicious pleasure of seeing their example destroying the ener- 
gies of the generation who have displaced them. If any one 
would condemn himself to follow the prevalent ideas about the 
fair sex up to their source, he would probably find them coming 
direct from the petites maisons of the last century ; not by 
means of literature, but by verbal tradition. It is true that 
young Calicots — which is the generic nickname for shop-boys — 
when they are enthusiastically licentious, exclaim, " Cest 
Regence J '" meaning, that their doings remind them of the 
abominations of the Eegency, of which they have read in M. 
Alexandre Dumas, and feeling secretly flattered at the thought 
that they can be as immoral as princes. But the doctrine and 
etiquette of vice has been handed down, and constantly prac- 
tised from generation to generation. A Marquis, who has taken 
up the cause of divine right, laments the vulgarisation of what 
" men call gallantry " in these days. The thing itself is a matter 
of course ; but, instead of making rendezvous at pretty little 
houses in the faubourgs of Paris, the ladies of our modern 
times have invented what is called " the porter's bell," a kind 
of gong which announces to the mistress of the house, if she 
be en tete-a-tete, that her husband is coming ! This ludicrous 
complaint is too illustrative of French manners to be omitted. 
It seems to me a perfect gem, and quite bearing upon what I 
say ; namely, that the theory and practice of intrigue is pre- 
cisely the same now as'under Louis XV. As to the gentility of the 
form, that is another question, which the noble adepts may de- 
cide. One thing is certain, that the financiers have beat the 
aristocracy out of the field in ordinary society ; and that not 
more than half of the famous " "What sons of what fathers ! " 
can still be true. Even a grisette speaks with perfect contempt 



DOWERLESS DAUGHTERS. 291 

of a baron ; and keeps her mercenary heart for a banker, and 
her real affections for some plebeian student who may one of 
those days preside at the Court of Cassation. 

The following facts have been already written down, but 
they are so true to reality that I repeat them, with the variations 
of my own experience. A good while ago a needy woman, 
with a handsome daughter, to whom she could not give a dowry, 
hit out a plan of life which has found imitators. It is as fol- 
lows : — Some young man known to be wealthy — a stockbroker, 
a merchant, even a count as a last resource — is pitched upon, 
and invited as a friend to the house. Secret understandings are 
often come to, but generally the bargain is only tacit. Little 
parties are given, at which the young man appears as a suitor. 
It is whispered about that he is inspired with a romantic pas- 
sion, but his parents refuse the necessary consent. They are 
waiting for better times, and the courtship goes on meanwhile. 
The young man begins by offering presents of little nick-nacks, 
and then ventures on a shawl, a bonnet, or a gown. The young 
lady keeps up appearances, regrets her fault, and makes a point 
of asking once a-month if the hard-hearted parents, have at 
length yielded ? By this time the character of the intimacy 
has become pretty evident to all. The young man takes out 
Eugenie or Pulcherie to walk alone. — There is one couple pass- 
ing under my window at this very moment — He has the key 
of the apartment, and by degress assumes the air of a master. 
At last he disappears. The young girl puts on mourning. 
Melancholy inhabits the house for a month or two. A brain- 
fever has blighted her hopes ! But another suitor soon appears, 
and then another and another, with increasing rapidity. The 
glass of the eighth Banquo is always in the hands of the last 
comer ; and at length the young lady — now no longer very 
young— sinks to the position of an ordinary Lorette, or meets 
some coffee-house keeper, who is of opinion that she still looks 
well by candle-light and sticks her behind his counter. 



292 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

If these things took place in the retired quarters of society- 
it would be well to pass them over in silence ; but they are so 
common and patent that they meet one at every corner in life, 
and in every page of literature. Even mothers give their gene- 
ral consent to the system in the case of their sons, provided par- 
ticular instances can be kept from their knowledge. They 
almost all admit the necessity, and even the propriety, of a 
young man " seeing life." I believe the idea of this neces- 
sity is so rooted, that any bridegroom who should be be- 
lieved not to have passed through the ordeal would be looked 
upon with contempt by the bride herself. Mothers have been 
heard to say : " Provided our son is an honest man — provided 
he makes his way in the world by legitimate means and does 
not destroy his health, we do not expect from him the reserve 
of the young maiden ; which would, indeed, be ridiculous. 
The man who has not committed one or two faults of this kind, 
and who has preserved his purity, can only have done so from 
indolence of heart, from an indifference which places him in an 
inferior rank. Generous sentiments, youthful ardour, energy, 
fire, co-exist with many faults ; and, in fact, where these faults 
are not, there cannot be those qualities. 

It is, perhaps, superfluous to appeal to statistics for proofs of 
what I have advanced. However, it is worth saying that above 
seventy thousand natural children are born annually in France, 
and only two-thirds of those born in Paris are legitimate. 
These astounding statements, however, are accounted for, in a 
great measure, by the fact that workmen are deterred from 
marriage, partly by the fear of expense, partly by theories pre- 
valent among them, partly from their love of a vagabond state 
of life. However, the majority of the contributions to the 
Foundling Hospital are offsprings of temporary unions, such as 
I have described. The work-people do not generally desert their 
children. Most of the foundlings are taken to the hospital by 
sages-fernmes, who make a trade of receiving women into their 



CLIMATE AND MORALITY. 293 

houses and require to be paid for each abandonment. Some of 
them have been known to earn from ten to twenty thousand 
francs a-year by this infamous trade, and it may easily be 
imagined that they rather encourage than dissuade hesitating 
mothers. In the provinces, various villains have raised the oc- 
cupation of Child-Exposer into a profession. They undertake 
for a certain price to convey infants to the nearest hospital, and 
receive for each expedition a sum varying from thirty to a hun- 
dred francs. Two or three have succeeded in setting up consid- 
erable establishments, with vehicles attached, plying regularly 
to the Foundling Hospital. Escaped convicts, who have found 
this a congenial occupation, have been known to intimidate 
seduced girls into giving up their children, and have even taken 
them by force, threatening ruin if they resisted. Cases have 
been brought before the law courts. 

Having trodden thus far over this painful ground, I must 
add, that not unmarried people only expose their children, but 
married also. The motives are generally misery or debauchery. 
This crime is also more common in the north than in the south. 
The wine-growing countries, if not more chaste, comply more 
regularly with the other dictates of morals. Is there a con- 
nexion between beer and debauchery ? In Strasbourg, it is said 
that most girls have a child or two before marriage. Some are 
kept by the parents, others are cast away. The influence of cli- 
mate on morality and virtue is a curious subject of research, but 
has hitherto been treated in too material a point of view. The 
departments in which fewest natural children are born are those 
in the west, but this arises from the dissemination of the people ; 
so that a new man is an ally, not an enemy. In the south, 
crimes against modesty are committed in summer ; which is 
carelessly urged to prove that we obey the sun in our impulses, 
whereas the hot months in wine-countries are months of com- 
parative idleness. In the north, crimes against property are 
committed in January and December ; of course, because then 



294 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

there is less work and more misery. Everywhere infanticide is 
commoner in winter than in other seasons. This crime is on 
the increase in France ; but, as is well known, the system of 
sending infants to the Foundling Hospitals has always been only 
another form of infanticide. Very few are reared. Some jocu- 
lar writers and poets have talked of the beauty and strength of 
natural children. Most of the girls placed in the Foundling 
Hospitals are ugly and uninteresting. They are all destined, 
as a matter of course, to the humblest position in life. In 
Moscow the case is different, and if a child exhibits any re- 
markable capacity it receives a good education. 

One feature, and the most disagreeable in French manners — 
and perhaps this applies in some degree to all countries — is, that 
the example of immorality is given by the aged to the young, 
who are thus almost forced to receive the impure inheritance of 
the old regime. It cannot be too often repeated, that the code 
of morals now practically adopted in France was created in the 
court of the Bourbons, where the demoralising tendency inher- 
ent in all forms of monarchy produced, perhaps, its most ex- 
treme results. It was easily propagated by example in a nation 
prepared by Catholicism and vanity. Writers patronised by 
the aristocracy became its apologists and its apostles. Men are 
now dying off who studied it in their youth, and have practised 
it ever since for the edification of their posterity. Even still 
are to be met with in Paris old sinners, like M. Croquignole, 
who maintain with cynical effrontery that there is nothing in 
this life to be sought but pleasure, nothing in the next but 
repose. This old gentleman, the last time I saw him, was eye- 
ing a grisette's ankle through a gold eyeglass ; and observed to 
me, in a tone of profound conviction, "I had rather be the 
sixtieth lover of a woman than the first, because the first 
ousts nobody, and the sixtieth ousts fifty-nine." Individual in- 
stances are perhaps of no weight. But who pays for those 
dashing toilettes that are by degrees driving modest women 



ART OF GOVERNMENT. 295 

away from Longchamps ? Not the youth of the schools — who, 
even in their faults, mix a certain amount of poetry and deco- 
rum, and who are preserved by their poverty if not by their 
pride, — but grave men, occupying positions in society, — minis- 
ters, generals, judges, bankers, successful literary men, stock- 
brokers, the elite of the middle-classes. The police make it a 
rule to open all letters addressed to known Lorettes, and to take 
the names of their friends, so that it could create prodigious 
scandal if it chose. 

It has already been observed, that men choose their plea- 
sures oftener from their opinions than their passions. If this 
be true, those who plead for education as the one thing needful, 
who make it a necessary preliminary to political reform, would 
have every argument in their favour, if it were not for the me- 
lancholy fact, that the general spread of virtue in all countries 
would threaten the existence of certain institutions and interests. 
Morality interferes chiefly with our pleasures, in which, as states- 
men well know, we spend the activity that would otherwise 
periodically explode in "thorough reformations." I have al- 
ready mentioned the wonderful political sagacity of the present 
Emperor, in proposing, if necessary, to occupy his subjects with 
the disastrous passions of the gambling-house. To govern men 
is required a profound knowledge of human nature. Inferior 
agents of Louis Napoleon, totally misunderstanding his princi- 
ples, and thinking themselves bound to be arbitrary without an 
object, have, in various places throughout the country, presumed 
to meddle with the amusements of the population ; forbidding, 
for example, girls under twenty to enter the public dancing- 
places. These attempts to moralise by force are evidently sug- 
gested by the Legitimist party and the clergy, who are not 
aware that they may introduce an element of perturbation into 
society. The upper classes and their spokesmen are every- 
where inclined to fall into the singular mistake of forbidding 
the people to indulge in the same vices as themselves. A na- 



296 PURPLE TINTS OP PARIS. 

tion of Puritans, however, is ill-fitted for the yoke. The Bishop 
of Cambrai has recently threatened to deprive all those who 
live in a state of concubinage of Christian burial. This zeal, 
quite justified by the canons of the Church, will scarcely be 
imitated. Nothing could be more impolitic than for the 
Catholic clergy, after having allied itself with an usurpation 
which can only exist as long as conscience finds no voice, to 
affect rigidity in matters of morals ; for they are by this time 
so far compromised in support of the present .system, that the 
slightest reawakening to the dignity of human nature in any 
large class may be fatal both to their protege and to them- 
selves. 



CHAPTER XX. 

General Position of "Women — An Odd Anecdote — Esprit de Corps — Virtue — Basis of 
Eeligion— A Political Illustration— National Character — Fatalism— Theory of Be- 
habilitation — Public Opinion with regard to Women — Female Emancipation — 
Oriental Theories— Liberty and Seclusion— The Married and the Unmarried — 
Girls, why watched— Artificial Training— The Empress— English and French 
Systems — Course of Instruction — A Philippic against Crochet- work — Music— Ger- 
man Songs — National prejudice — Education of "Women of the Humbler Classes — 
The Sisters — Immoral Influence of Catholicism — Convents and Boarding-schools — 
Prizes in Publie— Eewards for Virtue— Champfort— Pension St. Denis. 

But it is not sufficient to show that all or most young men, 
under circumstances more or less demoralising, form irregular 
unions in their youth ; and that, in fact, the Hetaira in France, 
as in old Greece, is a recognised element in society. We must 
also look upon this fact in its relations to the general position 
of women, and to the ideas both of moralists and the public in 
relation to the fair sex. Both from want of space and other 
reasons I cannot enter into all the details necessary for com- 
pleteness, but perhaps thinking persons will find some addition 
to their materials in the following chapters. 

A woman whose husband had ill-treated her once told a 
gossip of her acquaintance, that she would kneel down in prayer 
and complain to Our Saviour. " Don't," said the gossip : " ad- 
dress the Virgin Mary. Men, of course, always take each 
other's part." This anecdote illustrates very exactly the opinion 
which women are taught in France to hold of the relative po- 
sitions of the two sexes. You may often, indeed, hear them 
14* 



298 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

maintain, that it is the natural impulse of men to attack and 
the business of women to defend themselves. They rarely ap- 
peal to absolute principles of morality. The whole is reduced 
to a question of prudence ; and, as is frequently the case with 
us, the evil dictates of the heart getting the upper hand of gos- 
pel precepts, the fault of a poor victim of seduction is visited 
with undying wrath, whilst all manner of excuses are found for 
the rake. I am inclined to think, that unmerciful ladies of this 
kind have had experience of how easy it is to combine the 
pleasures of vice with the profits of reputation ; and that their 
anger is directed rather against the innocence, or want of tact, 
that led to discovery, than against the sin itself. In France, at 
any rate, women have a wonderful esprit de corps. Like 
priests, they protect the failings of their fellows until proof is 
too obvious ; and then lead the cry against the silly thing that 
has suffered itself to be caught. 

The course of my speculations leads me to treat of the un- 
pleasant part of this subject first. However, I have been suf- 
ficiently emphatic — some will say, sufficiently simple — in avow- 
ing my belief in the existence of a great amount of female 
virtue, even in France. To believe in excellence is the first 
step towards being excellent. It is very important, therefore, 
without regard to the satirical sneers of roues, to insist on this 
part of the truth. I observe that the severest censors of morals, 
perhaps because they direct too much of their attention to the 
diseases of our nature, become gradually incredulous of good 
as they advance in life ; but if evil be universal, it is scarcely 
worth while to condemn. Bring the cup and the wreath of 
flowers, and let Lais cast aside her veil. If ethics treat of du- 
ties that are never complied with, and are conversant only with 
beings that do not exist, they are a romance more wearisome 
than Ossian, and nearly as uninstructive as Telemachus. 

The basis of all religions is a theory of the composite nature 
of man, the varied play of his passions, his conflicting impulses, 



MORALITY AND LIBERTY. 299 



his spiritual aspirations, and gross appetites ; and this theory is, 
after all, the most cheerful one that we can adopt. It shows, 
that in no mind is evil so triumphant that good may seek in 
vain for a footing ; and indeed suggests, that when corruption 
has reached its utmost limit, the next step is not death, but a 
reaction towards a better frame of mind. Though I admit, 
therefore, that in the conspicuous places of society for many 
years past, a degraded position has been assigned to women in 
France ; though I maintain that, except in individual cases, 
where common sense makes a successful insurrection, they are 
so regarded, so taught, so treated by legislation and public opin- 
ion, that their characters are deteriorated, and their influence 
becomes rather pernicious than beneficial, yet I should be sorry 
to despair of the prospects of morality and civilisation. 

I shall take an illustration from another order of things. I 
believe the French, by their actual character and by their cor- 
ruption, to be liable to fall, and to remain under the curse of 
monarchical government ; yet I cannot blame their more vir- 
tuous citizens for constantly struggling to establish a republic, 
or any system under which they may be compelled to learn the 
science of affairs by transacting them. Liberty has a corner in 
every mind ; and I have heard even Tory gentlemen threaten 
insurrection in defence of their privileges. Nothing can be 
more immoral, therefore, than to imitate the wiseacres who go 
about saying, that Frenchmen are only fit to be governed by a 
Great Sword. A Great Sword never taught any thing but 
cowardice and immorality. We are placed on this earth to 
learn that which is good, and to assist others in exercising the 
same right. All honest men, therefore, though compelled by 
circumstances and nationality to stand aloof, are bound to give 
their sympathies to a minority, however small, that from time 
to time endeavours to save itself and the large mass of its 
fellow-citizens from the degradation, which is only the more de- 
plorable if it has its chief source in national character, — al- 



300 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

though national character, be it remembered, is not permanent, 
for its definition includes qualities that appear and disappear, 
acquire adjuncts and developments, and in different ages com- 
bine to produce a totally different general result. I reject the 
fatalist theory altogether. There are crises in the history of 
every nation when individual will may liberate and give expan- 
sion to our best instincts, or suppress and stifle every generous 
quality. In 1848, France was evidently incapable of self- 
government ; but if the frightened National Guards of Boulogne 
had fired low into the water some years before, a Washington 
would have found the field clear. 

The same train of reasoning will lead us not to pass irre- 
vocable condemnation on the state of female morality in France. 
It is, perhaps, as bad as the instruction of philosophers and 
priests could make it ; for a bad woman is the most artificial 
being on the face of the earth : but all is not, and cannot be, 
corrupt. If there did not remain a single faithful married wo- 
man in France, virtue would take refuge amongst the unmarried 
classes, and Magdalens would invite their sisters to repentance. 
It may be a vague sentiment of this truth — exaggerated into a 
criminal absurdity — chat has, as I have said, infested French 
literature of late with luxurious lucubrations on what is called 
" the rehabilitation of the courtesan ; " which expression, by the 
way, like several others now in common use, has been taken 
from the vocabulary of the St. Simonians. These strange spec- 
ulators, therefore, have left their foot-marks in the French lan- 



Perhaps many of the facts which I shall have to relate may, 
taking into account the different form of civilisation, have their 
counterpart in England. At any rate, I think that most per- 
sons have come to the conclusion that there is something radi- 
cally wrong in the state of public opinion with reference to the 
treatment and education of women in all civilised countries. I 
say, education and treatment, because we educate them that 



REHABILITATION. 301 

they may submit to the treatment. Many female writers, in 
France more especially, have " protested," as they express it, in 
favour of their own sex, and have been treated with not unde- 
served ridicule and contempt. It is a misfortune, incident to 
their position, that women can scarcely expose their grievances 
without losing our- respect in their own persons, and separating 
themselves, as it were, from their clients so far that they must 
be disavowed. The truth is, that it is our duty to begin to re- 
form ; and there is no better way of doing so than by examin- 
ing into the state to be reformed. 

Before leaving these speculations, which I did not intend to 
introduce, may I be allowed to say that I neither admire nor 
appreciate any of the systems or theories that have been set up 
under the banner of " emancipation ? " If any of the demo- 
cratic principles which I have avowed seem to lead, directly or 
indirectly, to a female insurrection, I hereby utterly disclaim 
them. I have got a crushing demonstration in my desk of the 
fact that women are not, and cannot be, citizens — that they 
form no part of the body politic — that they are incapable of 
civic rights — that they are above or below man — and that there 
is a great probability of their being guests from heaven, of 
whose divine character we are not aware. I should no more 
think of giving them a vote than to thee, Spirit of the Evening 
Star, if thou shouldst descend from thy sphere, where I see 
thee twinkle archly every time I look up through the window 
in search of a thought or an expression ! 

The way in which women are regarded in France seems to 
me quite Oriental in principle. They are allowed, it is true, 
considerable liberty when they have reached the married state ; 
but this is because there is a reaction too strong to resist against 
the confinement to which they are subject as girls. We must 
not, however, exaggerate the liberty French wives enjoy. Legis- 
lation is more unfavourable to them even than in England, and 
public opinion and manners greatly circumscribe their field of 



302 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. . 

action. What is called their liberty is the license they take to 
receive male visitors, their husbands being away — to go to 
parties alone, and attract gallant attentions — that is, in fact, 
they choose to make themselves accessible to intrigue. There 
is nothing in the mechanism of our society to prevent English- 
women doing likewise. The common antithesis, therefore — 
except, perhaps, in certain fashionable circles which never re- 
present a nation — is entirely false. French wives have no fran- 
chises that English women do not exercise in a greater degree. 
The only difference is, that the latter make a better use of their 
freedom. 

What has led some people into this error is the contrast 
that really exists in France between the life of the girl and that 
of the woman. The one being ridiculously confined, the other, 
at first sight, appears the extreme of uncontrol : and this brings 
me back to what I was saying of the Oriental theory of women 
held in France. Eastern maidens are watched by their mothers 
with excess of severity, not only because it is believed that dan- 
ger may befall them, but because the slightest hint that surveil- 
lance has been relaxed for a moment, even though no harm 
may be known of, is sufficient to destroy all prospect of mar- 
riage. This is precisely the case in France. A mother who 
should allow her daughter once to walk out with a young man, 
or should allow a young man not of the family once to sleep 
in the house, might as well accept the most degrading epithet 
in the language. No exigencies can be more severe than those 
of a battered rake, who has at length made up his mind to 
run the risk of matrimony, as to the modest demeanor of his 
betrothed. He watches, with practised eye, to catch the slight- 
est gesture, the slightest glance, that may contradict his ideas 
of innocence and candour ; and has a certain rigid theory, ac- 
cording to which he judges of the way the young lady walks, 
of the degree of her elasticity — a little stiffness and awkward- 
ness are a sine qua non in a complete virtue — of the practice 



ENGLISH AND FRENCH GIRLS. 303 

she may have attained in sending glances through her eyelids. 
Many a poor girl, yielding to her irrepressible frankness, has 
been condemned for looks and acts that would fill wise inex- 
perience with joy ; and I believe that most of the bitter accusa- 
tions circulated in genteel society against the unfortunate Em- 
press of France may be traced simply to the fact that she des- 
pised the hypocritical demureness of " marriageable daugi* the , 1 
in genteel society. Few English girls who go to that co«xirit> 
of Semblance escape similar slanders. The men cannot believe 
in Virtue allied with ease of manners, and augur ill even of a 
joyous laugh. The consequence is, that mothers, in self-defence, 
are obliged to give a false direction to the education of their 
daughters. They have constructed an art of modesty, a theory 
of reserve, to meet the tastes of the marrying public. The 
accomplishments of shyness and timidity are taught according 
to precise rules, just like music and dancing. This explains 
why nearly all French girls have the same demeanour, walking, 
when in public, with their eyelids on their cheeks, never enter- 
ing into conversation other than monosyllabic, and carefully 
eschewing, even in most familiar circles, any exhibition of that 
open-hearted joy which makes the society of their English sis- 
ters so delightful. 

Of late years some mothers, disgusted with the hypocriti- 
cal absurdity of all this, have begun to adopt a system half- 
way between French seclusion and English freedom. They tell 
me, however, that", though they admire our courage, they could 
not venture to allow, for example, even two young girls to walk 
out without a chaperon ; and one especially has ceased to go 
into society, because " her daughter is too old to be left alone 
and too young to be taken out." Any attempt at change 
must, indeed, fail, until public opinion is purified ; otherwise 
many innocent girls may have their prospects ruined by pre- 
judice. According to the prevalent theory — which, however, 
is often contravened — a young girl should never be out of sight 



304 PURPLE TINTS OP PARIS. 

of her mamma. Even in humble life this strictness is often 
attempted, but cannot, of course, be maintained. 

From what I have heard and seen, it appears to me that 
the whole system of female education — being influenced by this 
desire to bring up girls that may be easily disposed of in the 
■wvarket matrimonial — is wrong in France; as it may be, for that 
Bxcejst, in England, too — at least, to a certain extent. Young 
ladle*; among other things, are taught a thing called crochet- 
work, which, I am afraid, will some day be introduced amongst 
us. As a warning to mothers, I will describe it. It is the art 
of seeming to be employed for a long time, and of producing a 
result of the least possible value : it is an invention by which 
young girls, fancying they are doing something useful and ele- 
gant, are induced to fritter away all the hours they might de- 
vote to improving their minds and making themselves agreeable 
companions. I believe it was found out in a moment of inspi- 
ration by a stupid man, who was afraid of having a wife cleverer 
than himself. He learned — whether from above or below I 
cannot tell — that, by this means, fine, healthy, intelligent maid- 
ens, could be reduced to a state bordering on idiocy. It was 
also suggested to him, that, to keep women virtuous, they must 
be given occupation ; and as he, above all things, esteemed 
virtue — or rather innocence, which is not quite synonymous — 
he greedily seized on the expedient. Unhappy man ! Women 
are " frail," to use the absurd old word, nine times out of ten, 
because their hearts and minds are not occupied ; and you put 
into their hands a needle and a bit of wool ! If I were a Love- 
lace, I should never think of addressing a mother employed in 
making shirts or mending stockings ; for these humble things 
have associations with the whole range of domestic happiness. 
But crochet-work ! " Madam, is this the end and aim of an 
immortal being ? What duties is it connected with— what af- 
fections does it satisfy ? It is a sort of delicate treadmill, by 
which men who despise you seek to keep you from mischief. 



MUSIC AND DANCING. 305 

What respect can be entertained for your character by those 
who leave your virtue to this frivolous protection 2 " I am sure 
I could go on very eloquently ; and that the crochet-work would 
soon fall on the lady's lap. 

Music also enters greatly into female education ; and as 
aptitude is not considered, and as girls are taught to play and 
sing as they are taught to wear their bonnets — because it is the 
fashion — I signalise this as another dismal fault, which I think 
has already crossed the Channel. Indeed, I am quite sure that 
English young ladies, who have no more voice than Tom Pipes, 
have at various times seemed to challenge me to meet them by 
moonlight ; which I have always declined — of course, without 
giving the reason — namely, that I would rather see them en- 
gaged in learning the music of affection, the riches of a kind 
intonation which may be acquired in one lesson. It is merely 
necessary to be affectionate and kind. I have heard young 
wenches warble very pathetically some ditty, the chorus of 
which ends " My mother," uttered in the most dreary accents 
of fondness ; and then say, or look, " I sha'n't," in answer to 
some maternal injunction. In France, German songs are now 
fashionable, and series of consonants proceed from young ladies' 
mouths as paper-twists from those of conjurers ; and everybody 
— such is the influence of fashion — exclaims, " What a sweet 
language ! " Apropos of singing, it is a curious observation to 
make, showing the tyrannical power of prejudice, that when a 
Frenchman hears an English song he immediately notices its 
hissing sound, whilst Scotch or Irish pieces are applauded inva- 
riably. A lady was once singing " Love not, love not." Some- 
body asked me the subject and origin, and I said it was a 
Highland melody, which information proved the signal of a 
noisy burst of enthusiasm. 

However, I must not attempt to fill up the great outline of 
" The Manners and Customs of Paris." Luckily my pretensions 
are less ambitious. I shall say generally that, taking in the 



306 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

whole country, the formal education of girls is, perhaps, better 
than that of boys. Statistics may contradict me ; but, as far 
as my personal experience goes, the women write better, and 
with more ease, than the men, and are more capable in ac- 
counts. Amongst the humbler classes, an immense number of 
girls are sent to be educated by the Sisters, because it is admit- 
ted — which is a great sign of contempt — that religion is good 
for women, however useless it may be for men. The Sisters 
are very well intentioned, and do their best to attract pupils. 
Their instruction is gratuitous ; which circumstance, in a great 
measure, accounts for the tolerance of even infidel parents. Re- 
spectable tradesmen's wives have admitted to me, that all they 
know they learned " chez les Soeurs." This is rather a misfor- 
tune than otherwise ; for these excellent women think it their 
duty to inculcate the great idea which is at the bottom of all 
the immorality of the French — of all their wrong appreciations 
of themselves and others — namely, that right is not absolute, 
but dependent upon precept, or rather command. Simple- 
minded girls early learn to look upon a priest as the incarnation 
of the moral law, from which the step is easy to believing in 
no morality at all. Indeed, Catholicism has often been reduced, 
in defending itself, to maintain that, if the Church were re- 
moved, there would be nothing to guide men but their beastly 
intellects, and that horrible thing called Reason. Without 
being supplied with any axioms to that effect, girls are taught, 
in real good faith, and with the best possible intentions, to de- 
pend entirely on priestly advice for rules of conduct. In scold- 
ing infants for wrong-doing, they are told that the terrible 
priest will be offended, or the good priest will be grieved; and 
thus the two passions of fear and affection are suborned, as it 
were, to let the enemy within the walls. The pernicious effects 
of this teaching may be traced everywhere. 

A great number of young ladies are educated in convents, 
from which they are often transferred suddenly into the noise 



MARRIAGEABLE GIRLS. 307 

and bustle of the world, where they find a husband ready to 
greet them. Marrying gentlemen, looking upon matters from 
only one point of view, are quite delighted to receive a bride 
from the convent ; for they know that, in 'spite of libellous 
accusations, the stories of Boccaccio can scarcely be repeated in 
modern times ; and that there are ninety-nine chances to one 
that they will find physical purity, which, as in all immoral 
countries, is chiefly prized by the French. On this account, not 
only do mothers, as I have said, watch their daughters care- 
fully, but boarding-schools are surrounded with so many pre- 
cautions, that they offer nearly the same security as convents. 
Elopements of school-girls may be said to be unknown in 
France. In many cases the virginity of the mind is not so well 
preserved as men would desire ; but even here we must guard 
against exaggeration. The point for criticism is, that though 
young girls are kept really innocent, they are not supplied with 
principles for their guidance, and are prepared rather to give 
inexpressible satisfaction on the threshold of real life than to 
deserve permanent affection and esteem. 

Up to 1812 it was the custom, both in the case of boy and 
girl schools, to distribute the prizes in public. ' At that time the 
custom was suppressed, in case of the girls, as it was found to 
be injurious to modesty. This reform, however, was not the 
result of any expression of public opinion, but was brought 
about by the arbitrary interference of the Prefect of the Seine. 
I may here remark that the French have a strong tendency to 
depend, for the improvement both of children and grown-up 
men, on the efficacy of prizes. At the Revolution, when the 
idea was first admitted that virtue might be a good and useful 
thing in a state, very well-meaning men determined to make it 
the object of reward. In many cities the custom still remains 
of distributing what are called " prizes of virtue." People are 
paid by medals and applause for any remarkable development 
of the natural affections ; but a keen writer has remarked, " It 



308 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

seems to me that filial love has grown feebler since it has been 
so much praised as a wonderful thing." At the time of the 
establishment of these prizes the wit Champfort violently 
attacked the system, saying, " Let us render this homage to 
virtue, to suppose that the poor man also can be paid by its 
exercise ; that like the rich man, he has an opulent and solva- 
ble conscience ; and that he also sometimes feels the necessity 
of placing a good action between him and heaven." These re- 
marks, however, were of no avail. The system was not carried 
out to the extent at first contemplated ; but I saw the other day 
an announcement in the papers, that two young girls of the 
Pension St. Denis had received the Fontaine prize for filial vir- 
tue. The most absurd part of the transaction is, that outward 
manifestations are generally adduced to justify the giving of a 
crown. Regan and Goneril would not have been without their 
reward in this country. 



CHAPTEE XXL 

Treatment of Infants— Nurses— A Fortunate Beggar— Cost of Nurses— Their Influence 
on Character — Governesses — Story of Eugenie and Marie — Going to Mass — An 
Intrigue in a Church— Aristocracies — English Prudery and French Immorality — 
Before and After Marriage — Girls of the Poorer Classes — War against Modesty — 
Literature read by Grisettes — Story of Amelie — Influence of Female Occupations 
— Dressmakers— The Limits of Knowledge— Indigent Men and Women— Why 
Women take Lovers— Virtuous Courtesans and French Eomancers*. 

To impart a proper idea, however, of trie way in which female 
character is formed in France, it is necessary to say something 
of the treatment of infants, which acts in two ways : first, as an 
example, teaching aspirant mothers how to behave ; and in the 
second place, physically and morally prepares the young gen- 
eration to imitate its predecessor. The effect of the preaching of 
Jean Jacques Rousseau against the custom of sending children 
out to nurse was at first very great. It became the fashion for 
many fine ladies to suckle their own infants. Indeed, at that 
time, it was only to this class that his preachings applied. The 
common people then followed the dictates of nature. By de- 
grees, maternal zeal died away, and soon the woman of the 
world, yielding to her innate love of pleasure, again abandoned 
her babes to hired nurses. When the bourgeoisie began to 
imitate their " betters " in all things, they were careful not to 
leave out this point of resemblance ; and at last the work- 
woman, wishing to ape the middle classes, ceased also to suckle 
her little ones. Now-a-days most women who can afford it 



310 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

abstain from maternal duty. I know an instance of a blind 
beggar who pipes on the Pont des Saints Peres, and is married 
to a very pretty woman ; she lives in the next house to mine, 
on the first floor, and works as a milliner. Her first child is 
now out at nurse, at the rate of fourteen francs a-month. It 
was originally put into the hands of a woman who neglected 
it ; and I am told that the father, on going to " see " it, as he 
said, at the Nurse-office, at once perceived, by the mere touch, 
that it was not properly cared for, and insisted on a change. 
He seems, by the way, to make a good thing of his piping, for 
he lives in a style that many respectable workpeople would 
envy. 

The nurses are generally countrywomen, who, to gain a 
miserable sum of from fourteen to twenty-five francs a-month, 
bring up their own children by hand, and feed those of the 
townspeople on the nourishment thus fraudulently obtained. My 
portress sends her children to the country, and pays twenty-five 
francs. The price decreases in proportion to the distance from 
Paris. Healthy young girls who have had a misfortune, are 
often induced to send their babes to the Foundling Hospital, 
and are taken home by wealthy families and coddled for a time 
as the most precious part of the household. All their caprices 
are attended to, for fear that their young charges may suffer. 
I know of a lady who, having anticipations of an increase 
of her family, actually said to a fresh and cheerful-looking 
young girl, " What a pity we did not think of it in time ! you 
might have nursed my child." The tender mother in expec- 
tation never reflected or cared what evil influence this remark 
might produce. 

I believe it cannot be denied, that what may be called phy- 
sical character — by which I mean the sum of all the instincts 
and aptitudes which directly develope themselves irrespective 
of moral and religious education, whose business is to supply 
principles that guide and curb — greatly depends on the foster- 



FRENCH GOVERNESSES. 311 

mother. Perhaps it would be too much to say, that she who 
has fed at the breast of Phryne must pursue the same career ; 
but the mental purity of a nurse is not indifferent. At any rate, 
who would not prefer to look upon a maiden who had drank 
the stream of life that nature had provided, than on one who 
had been cast before some doubtful source not opened for her — 
some troubled cistern for travellers by the wayside ? I do not 
mean to imply that French nurses are habitually chosen among 
immoral classes, though this is too often the case ; nor do I pre- 
tend, that because a young girl has been seduced therefore her 
contact is corrupt ; but I know a frightful instance in which the 
consequences of a careless choice were afterwards made manifest 
in misery, that gave occasion to painful calumnies and ended in 
death. 

In many cases amongst fashionable people, the account 
which I have given of the surveillance exercised by mothers over 
their daughters does not apply. When the child is taken out 
of the hands of the nurse, it passes into those of some light 
femme de chambre, who, without any evil intention, instils no- 
tions and suggests habits that a little lady might well be with- 
out. Afterwards a governess is chosen, who is supposed to 
possess certain accomplishments, but into the finer parts of 
whose moral character little inquiry is made. Apparent good 
conduct is sufficient. Mademoiselle Honorine, who was seri- 
ously compromised in the society of my little friend Tom Pouce, 
is now engaged in superintending the education of the daughter 
of a tradesman whose wealth places him in the highest circles. 
Very often a mother of this rank takes little notice of her child 
until she begins to think of marrying her. 

A story is related of two young ladies named Eugenie and 
Marie, intimate friends, who were almost always left by their 
mothers under the care of a couple of governesses of doubtful 
antecedents. These, in their turn, used to abandon their 
charges to themselves, and go out in search of pleasure and 



312 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

amusement. The girls had heard somehow of the fascinating 
balls frequented by the young students, and determined to take 
advantage of their liberty and see a little of what is called life. 
It was Carnival time. They stole out, went to a shop where 
costumes may be hired at so much a-night, and having pro- 
cured two dominoes hastened away to the Chaumiere. They 
had resolved only to look on, but of course they danced. The 
first night went off well. They had gone with the intention of 
satisfying their curiosity — that was all. But the second time 
— for they soon returned — led to the making of acquaintances, 
and, in fact, they never went back to their homes at all. Marie 
became one of the most famous Lorettes in Paris, and Eugenie 
was considered fortunate because she settled down to be the 
mistress of a medical student. 

Under ordinary circumstances, the first opportunity which 
a young lady has of going out comparatively unguarded is when 
she begins to be religious. It has been observed, that at seven- 
teen a vast number of girls take to going to mass every morn- 
ing. In the upper ranks, maidens, whose characters would be 
considered to be lost for ever if they went out with a male 
friend, are allowed to go, attended by their bonnes, to church, 
when all the rest of the family is in bed. Now, without sup- 
posing the bonne to be corrupted, it is easy to see that if the 
Oriental system of seclusion be advisable, all its good effects 
may in this way be destroyed. The other day an ugly young 
lady, to whom, in spite of her wealth, no suitors of her own 
class came, grew suddenly pious, or rather determined to go 
out every morning to the church of St. Thomas d'Aquin with 
her bonne in search of a lover. Her very first expedition was 
successful. A poor shopman — one of the supernumeraries of a 
ready-made clothes establishment — who probably was on his 
way to church on the supposition that his handsome face and 
fine figure might bring him good luck, attracted the eyes of 
the sentimental excursionist. She felt that the richness of her 



FAUBOURG ST. GERMAIN. 313 

costume and the presence of a servant would overawe his youth 
and poverty, so she condescended to make the first advances, 
and signed to him to follow her. In the church she told her 
bonne, a simple Norman girl, to pray in a chapel, and strolled 
away to a sombre corner to commune with the young supernu- 
merary, who soon understood that he might reasonably indulge 
in visions of fortune. The young lady appears to have been of 
a very decided character, and, having once made up her mind, 
determined to force her parents to give their consent to a mar- 
riage. At the last moment her mother, who had all the preju- 
dices and unscrupulousness of aristocracy, brought forward an 
old marquis, whose only fortune was his title ; but Mademoiselle 

Melanie de , who, after all, had a good deal of rectitude 

and honesty about her, resolved to keep to her first choice — 
threatened to give food for scandal — and in a very short time 
the young supernumerary, having treated his fellows in the 
shop to a parting dinner, started with his ugly, but wealthy 
bride, for Italy. 

Though there was somewhat too much of deliberation in all 
this transaction, it would be fortunate for the remnants of the 
noble families in France if such little accidents were oftener to 
happen. At any rate, if the counts and marquises of the pre- 
sent day were to imitate our aristocracy, and marry from the 
middle classes, they might have some hope that their race 
might rise from the wretched physical degradation to which it 
is fallen. With few exceptions, there could not be found a 
meaner-looking set of men than those who hover about the 
Faubourg St. Germain, and look upon themselves still as the 
true representatives of France. I once heard a man, with a 
particle in his name, indignantly repudiate the idea that there 
were thirty-five millions of Frenchmen. " There were, at most," 
he said, " some ten or twelve thousand families to whom that 
name could properly be applied." I believe that, in his mind, 
15 



314 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

this was an apology for the emigration of the nobility in the 
old Revolution. 

From what I have already said, it appears that many mo- 
thers care little to educate their daughters, except to prepare 
them for marriage by some superficial accomplishments, and by 
furnishing them with certain appearances of innocence. How- 
ever, amongst the genteel er classes, great care is taken not to 
offend maidenhood by any improper expression or equivocal 
word. The French, who are so unmerciful on our prudery — 
who make it an accusation against us that we dislike indecency 
— whose wit is unsparing and inexhaustible when they dilate 
on the category of ideas which, according to them, we call 
" shocking," — endeavour to draw a cordon sanitaire round their 
unmarried girls ; but when once the nuptial benediction has 
been pronounced, the obligation of propriety caases. All bar- 
riers are thrown down, and young things who a little while be- 
fore were not allowed to suspect what love was, soon assert the 
privilege of saying, " I am a married woman, don't mind me. 
I know what you mean ! " The ball-room, the festival, the 
theatre, are thrown open to them without restraint ; and reck- 
less novels assist in explaining what kind of thing life is. They 
become at once, too, the object of the attacks of systematic se- 
duction. Disciples of Balzac (who has demonstrated — any- 
thing may be demonstrated — that it is absolutely impossible 
for any genteel, pretty woman, to pass through life without one 
or two intrigues), begin to flutter round a bride as soon as she 
is introduced into society. . The forms of intercourse adopted in 
the upper classes of all countries are favourable to immorality. 
In France, men are generally theoretical rakes ; and women, as 
I have shown, are prepared to be victims. 

Probably the daughters of the middle classes in France are 
the best cared for and protected. In the last century it was ne- 
cessary to guard them from the licentious nobles ; and, though 
the danger has ceased, certain habits of surveillance have been 



THE POORER CLASSES. • 315 

kept up. Among the lower classes, including the work-people, 
though there is a good deal of care shown in some families, 
yet, as a rule, care is impossible. Young girls are left, after 
having passed a certain age, to take charge of themselves, and, 
naturally, are often victims either to people of their own rank 
or to the rich. One of the most popular songs of Pierre Du- 
pont, complains that even shopboys exercise what used to be 
" the lord's right ; " for misery places the girls under the subjec- 
tion of gold. When possible, as soon as the first rudiments 
of education have been given, they are early apprenticed ; and 
prudent parents marry them at the first opportunity, for they 
know that as soon as their daughters have passed sixteen, and 
begin to work on their own account, there is danger for 
them. 

Among the poorer classes very little instruction is, of course, 
given to the young girl, who is compelled from a very early 
age to assist her mother in domestic affairs. Many learn to 
read and write, as I have said, with the Sisters, and are taught 
their catechism to prepare for the first communion ; after which 
they enter into service, or are apprenticed to some trade. Al- 
ready, however, corrupting influences have been at work upon 
them. Parents and friends do not refrain in the slightest de- 
gree, when they are present, from conversing on subjects most 
improper for young minds to deal with ; and the poor things 
smile and blush at equivocations which would make our Eng- 
lish ears tingle. There are many things to be seen in the 
streets of Paris quite sufficient to destroy all idea of modesty 
as we understand it. 

The books which form the favourite reading of the young 
work-girls — which the learned among them often read to the 
unlearned in bed instead of sleeping — are novels that seem to 
be constructed for the special purpose of assisting those who 
would seduce them. They do not care for what are generally 
called " immoral productions," as if all others were moral. The 



316 ' PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

pages which excite their imaginations, and prepare them to lis- 
ten to delusive promises, are those which describe luxury, and 
wealth, and splendour, and happiness which they are never des- 
tined to taste. In this way a morbid desire of material enjoy- 
ment is developed. " Before I die," I have heard it said, " I 
should like to enjoy a snatch of merry existence — un peu de 
bon temps — a year, a month, a week, and after that come what 
may ! " Manifestly, a young girl in this mood of mind is ready 
for any proposal which includes the prospect of a shawl, a new 
bonnet, a muff, some good dinners, a pretty lodging, and the 
envy of her sex. I suppose this is a peculiarity of French wo- 
men — of course it cannot be true amongst us — but half the 
delight of a handsome gown seems to consist in showing it to 
" dear friends," who will bite their lips and try to find fault 
with the ground or the flowers, the texture or the colour ; or, 
if all these are unexceptionable, with their adaptation to the 
complexion of the owner : " it is very pretty, but it does not 
suit you — it would exactly suit me." 

Poor girls by their position, and by the vices of their pa- 
rents, are often in danger, even if they do not yield to the causes 
here spoken of. There was a young girl, one of whose names 
was Amelie, living with her parents, drunken people, who com- 
pelled her to work for their support. A villanous locksmith 
set eyes upon her, and having ingratiated himself with the 
father and mother by treating them to drink, paid his addresses, 
was successful, and abandoned her at the moment when she 
was most in need of his assistance. As long as he was a friend 
of the family, and supplied plenty of wine, the parents shut 
their eyes to what was going on ; but when he disappeared, 
they began beating her every day, until, exasperated, she es- 
caped from the house and took refuge with Madame Rose , 

from whom, at various times, I heard of these proceedings. She 
was kindly received and lodged; but at length the mother 
found her out, and, going to the Commissary of Police, pro- 



STORY OF AMELIE. 31 7 

cured a person to be sent to support her maternal authority, 
and compel Rose to give up the girl and her things. Amelie 
was not taken home, but before the Commissary, who gave her 
a long lecture upon duty. She complained that, at her age, 
she was beaten like a child ; but was told that she must bear 
with all until she was twenty-one. As she was not sufficiently 
submissive — the law is very exacting in the matter of filial obe- 
dience — they sent her, under guard of a gendarme, to the Pre- 
fecture of Police. Having passed a day in the depot there, 
she was put into a van with a number of abandoned women, 
and conveyed to the prison of St. Lazare. Here, after a week's 
confinement, she became ill, and wished to write to her friend, 
Madame Rose, to come and see her ; but the preliminary pay- 
ment of ten sous was required, and so no one would take her 
letter. However, at length the mother came with her release ; 
she was once more taken to the Prefecture, and then sent home 
on foot in her deplorable state. A little while afterwards she 
went into the hospital of the Bourbe to lie in, when she again 
wanted to write to Madame Rose ; but here a preliminary pay- 
ment of fifteen sous was required. Having remained seven 
days, she was turned out with her infant, and sent home, still 
to work at shirt-making for the support of her drunken parents. 
She is very clever and industrious. Her mother pays fourteen 
francs a-month for the nursing of the child, which lives in spite 
of everything, and takes the remainder of her earnings for her- 
self. Of course she waits with impatience for her majority, 
when there is no doubt she will rise in insurrection. 

By the way, medical writers assure us that certain occupa- 
tions exercise disastrous influence upon female morality, and cite 
as examples milliners and sempstresses. Montaigne had already 
made the same remark, but I believe that it is greatly exagge- 
rated. If sedentary workwomen are less pure in manners than 
others, it is probable that we may find the cause in the small- 
ness of their gains rather than in absurd meditations, in which 



318 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

material agencies, not perhaps without some slight influ- 
ence, are made to answer entirely for actions to which 
every form of moral doctrine attaches the idea of responsi- 
bility. Dressmakers, also, go mad in a greater proportion than 
other workwomen — a fact I should be disposed to explain rather 
by mental anxiety than attitude. Of late years there has been 
a tendency among persons calling themselves scientific, to ex- 
plain most mental phenomena, especially mental diseases, by the 
action of external physical causes. The progress of modern 
knowledge consists, often, in checking inquiry, by giving seri- 
ously as an explanation of a puzzling fact a diluted statement of 
that fact. We are told that certain forms of imprisonment, for 
example, produce madness ; but why not on all subjects ? Be- 
cause all are not " predisposed ! " This can scarcely satisfy an 
inquirer. "We want another Bacon — not to show us new fields 
and pastures of knowledge, but to point out where we have 
really discovered, and where we have made haste to seem to 
know, filling up the intervals in the yet half-levied army of know- 
ledge by men of straw, connecting fortresses of granite by 
bastions of pasteboard, painting and varnishing over all defects, 
and smiling to see the vanguard of skepticism halt in dismay at 
sight of what seem to be impregnable fortifications. It is true 
that the public is more to blame than the men of science. 
They will admire only those who are " point-devise." Admira- 
tion is not a necessary of life, but how many can resist the 
pleasure, when offered on easy terms, of giving laws of thought 
to a generation, of appearing as the interpreters of nature, and 
of scolding the age for not being as wordy-wise as themselves ! 
A fact worthy of remark is the disproportion that exists be- 
tween the number of indigent women and indigent men. There 
are almost twice as many poor women, in France and in other 
countries, as poor men — that is, forty-six to every twenty-seven. 
The wants of women are fJwer, and their habits are more sober ; 
but it is far more difficult for them to gain their living. They 



VIRTUOUS COURTESANS. 319 

are less certain of rinding work, and much, worse paid. This is 
the reason that, in default of a husband, many take lovers, 
which custom prevents the disproportion from increasing. There 
are only twenty poor young girls to nineteen poor young men. 
Unfortunately, the unions that are formed are often not pro- 
longed beyond the period of youth. The woman is deserted, 
and, by degrees, falls into misery, after having for a time swelled 
the ranks of mercenary vice. It is a curious fact that, although 
girls arrive at maturity much earlier than boys, the latter begin 
to infringe the law sooner. Setting aside exceptions, women be- 
come criminal at a later period of life than men, the obscure 
observation of which fact may have led to the popular absurdity 
that all old women are wicked. ' Men sacrifice morality to am- 
bition. Women transgress its rules when they despair of a 
comfortable establishment in life. The unfortunate female 
population of Paris is constantly swelled by young girls deluded 
by students, commercial travellers, and soldiers, in the country, 
and taken up to the capital to be abandoned. I here approach 
forbidden ground ; statistical and philosophical writers have 
trodden it before : but it is necessary to say that some of the 
most monstrous characters in French romance — virtuous courte- 
sans, pursuing their avocations with high-minded and affection- 
ate motives — have been discovered, and described, and named, 
and classified by the police, which assures us that in Paris they 
number thirty-one. The writers, therefore, who choose these 
heroines, have not even the merit of originality. They deli- 
berately pick out the nightmares of civilisation, and of the 
exception make a rule — that is all. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

Influence of Institutions— Primogeniture and the Position of Women— Allies of Con- 
servatism — Theory of the Married State— Marriage a Convenience— English Sen- 
timentality — Youth in France— The Ideal— Property and Parental Authority — 
Elopements — A Matrimonial Negociation — Toung Ladies not to be pitied — Object 
in Life— How Maidens are Persuaded— Effect of Ennui— Preparation for Marriage 
— The Signing of the Contract— Imitation of the Upper Classes— Expeditious 
Courtship — Buying a Husband — A Cherry-tree — An avaricious Barber — Saving a 
Dowry— Making Acquaintance with a "Wife— Eomance in Marriage— The Family 
in danger— Odious Theorists— The Bourgeois, how worked upon— Objects of the 
Democratic Party — Theories of Property— Spoliation— Hostility to Marriage- 
True Topics of Criticism — Divorce, its effects— Corruption of the Upper and Ob- 
servation of the Lower Classes. 

Eveey institution plays two parts in this world : — in the first place, 
it has its direct influence upon manners and public and private 
aotions ; and secondly, by the conditions under which it exists, 
it is a permanent example, an ever-flowing source of instruction 
to the world. This is why the reform of an institution in general 
produces results that have not been calculated. Every change 
indicates the presence of an idea, and becomes, as it were, its 
symbol. The results, for example, of the abolition of the law 
of primogeniture, will not be only the gradual division of the 
land, and consequent destruction of a useless class, but will tend 
immediately to elevate and purify our conception of that monad 
of society called the family. By substituting a vast conserva- 
tive class of peasant-proprietors for an aristocracy, which seems 
to have outlived its utility, i^will destroy almost the last trace 
that remains in England of formal feudalism ; and lead neces- 



POSITION OF WOMEN. 321 

sarily to a re- examination of the laws of property, especially as 
regards the interests of women. This is the reason why the 
few female thinkers, who have ventured to hope for an amelio- 
ration of the condition of their sex, are beginning to direct their 
notice to the positive laws that maintain our present artificial 
form of society, and to perceive that they must be relaxed be- 
fore any moral preachings can have effect. If, indeed, women 
wish to occupy their proper places, they must assist in making 
room. 

From this it will appear that I should be disposed to put 
the public on its guard against those useful allies of what is 
commonly called Conservatism, who try to appease our anxiety 
for good by telling us that we don't deserve it ; and who say 
that the best way to get all we want is to reform ourselves. 
Personal improvement, however, is not a chameleon change of 
colour : it is an advance both in size and position. It requires 
space and opportunity. Individuals may develope to take the 
place of those who decay; the Saxons produced politicians 
when the Norman intellect waned : but classes ameliorate only 
to adapt themselves to better circumstances within their reach. 
Who goes through the platoon exercise as an amateur ? How 
many will fit themselves to give a vote whose franchise depends 
on the courage of a minister and the convenience of a party ? 

The theory commonly held in France of the rights and 
duties of the married state, is exactly appropriated to circum- 
stances. To effect any serious change, it would be necessary to 
alter the character of the institution of marriage — or, at any 
rate, to modify the positive and social laws that regulate it. 
My business is not to criticise projects of reform ; but it is im- 
possible to speak of marriage in France without allusion, not 
only to the influence exerted on forms of thought by the con- 
ditions under which it is made to exist, but also to the -direc- 
tion it has given to speculation, and the theories that have been 
invented to remove or palliate its miseries. 
15* 



322 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

According to French society at large — setting aside all sen- 
timentalists, and those moments in which all are more or less 
sentimental — marriage is simply a convenient state established 
by law and custom, because conducive to the continuance of 
the species. By most persons it is regarded as a mere matter 
of business — an incident that happens of course at a certain 
period of life, but which is rather the concern of the parents 
than of the parties themselves. - Young men will correct me if 
I am wrong ; but in England I think that the majority, about 
or before the age of twenty, begin to make themselves, in 
imagination, the hero of some romantic adventure, which is to 
terminate, like " Quentin Durward," or any other novel, in " a 
happy marriage." How far the influence of fiction may be 
traced in this state of mind it would be difficult to say, but 
certainly the youth of England never contemplate, as the most 
brilliant period of existence, a kind of interregnum between 
schooldays and " settling for life," in which sentimental attach- 
ments may be formed and broken, mistresses taken and cast 
off, misery or sorrow experienced, and poetical illusions indulg- 
ed. We frame to ourselves and preserve as a companion, which 
we treat with more or less respect as we get older and harder, 
and more disappointed, an Ideal Being, a kind of heroine, from 
materials furnished by our reading and our desires; but we 
always hope to find it sitting in its papa's house, before a piano 
or behind a tea-table, to fall in love with it, to woo it, and 
finally to publish the banns of our marriage with it. The French-* 
man evokes a similar phantasy, and goes on seeking for its 
representative through life — sometimes among grisettes, some- 
times among peasant-girls, when his tastes are low and not very 
corrupt, but, generally speaking, in society, among the wives of 
his friends — anywhere but in the demure person to whom the 
law is to unite him, and who is to be, probably, the mother of 
his children. 

The regulations to which property in France is subject, no 



A FRENCH MARRIAGE. 323 

doubt produce many beneficial effects, and will produce more 
when the national character has received certain modifications. 
They have tended, however, to exaggerate the natural authority 
of parents over their children in cases where there is, properly 
speaking, no place for authority. In principle the law does not 
admit that a child can ever marry without the consent of the 
parents, although, after the age of twenty-five, a son is allowed 
to make what are called respectful summonses to his father, 
which enable him to dispense with formal approval. The exist- 
ence of these formalities is the reason why what are called in 
England "elopements" scarcely ever take place in France — 
at least, when marriage is the object. There never has been 
any Gretna Green there. No union can be hurried over by 
parties yet panting from a post-chaise, the horses still steaming, 
and the pursuers coming down the hill in the distance. How- 
ever, young men sometimes do run away with pretty or wealthy 
young girls, and manage to compromise them so far that mar- 
riage is generally considered necessary. Such adventures 
would, perhaps, happen oftener, if the young men could be 
trusted, and if there were any reasonable certainty that the 
parents would afterwards consent. But it often comes to pass 
that obstinacy on one side or the other reduces the poor girl 
who has taken this desperate step, for fear of being sold, to be- 
come the mistress of her lover, who one day or other is sure to 
shake ofY the yoke, and leave her to find another friend. 

To give an idea of the way in which a French marriage is 
brought about in the ordinary course of things, I may mention 
that, not long ago, I called on a friend whose eldest daughter 
was a pretty girl of sixteen. Two ladies were present, to whom 

M. A was speaking with the respect due to strangers. A 

few phrases let me into the secret of their conference. They 
were charged by the parents of a deaf and dumb man to seek a 
young girl as a wife for him. They had heard of Mademoi- 
selle A , and came to make proposals. Their offer was 



324 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

declined, and I was requested never to allude to the circum- 
stance before the young lady herself. If, however, the contrary 
had been the case, no one would have been shocked or sur- 
prised ; for this is about the way in which two-thirds of the 
marriages that take place in France are patched up. Generally 
speaking, the union is not of souls, but of properties. 

I must not, however, against my will, excite unreasonable 
pity and sympathy for the young creatures who are thus dis- 
posed of. There has been too much of morbid writing on that 
subject. Through the whole of romantic literature, indeed, 
there runs a complaint that parents will persist in throwing ob- 
stacles in the way of marriages of affection, and especially in 
uniting unwilling daughters to rich old men instead of to hand- 
some gallant youths. Such things are not so common in real 
life as ladies try to persuade us. There is nothing so rare as 
love in this world ; and most of the fair dames who pretend 
that their marriage-ring is only one link of a heavy chain im- 
posed against their will, might have indulged in the luxury of 
a union of affection if they had desired. Young ladies, it is 
true, always set out with a little sentimental episode, entered 
into partly for mere amusement, — partly in obedience to in- 
stinct ; but just rustle silk and jingle gold near at hand, and see 
how many will not prepare a fascinating smile as they turn 
round ! When they have satisfied their ambition, when they 
have revelled in wealth, when they discover that outward show 
cannot by any means satisfy the heart, they begin to cast back 
in their minds and seek to find how they, innocent, sentimental, 
loving things, were forced into a union of interest. They pity 
themselves, and expect us to pity them. But there is a vulgar" 
proverb, — "You cannot eat your cake and have your cake." 
You have eagerly accepted a brilliant match, not caring what 
affectionate heart you were crushing, what life you were embit- 
tering ; sometimes you coax back your letters if you have been 
imprudent, or deny with angelic impertinence looks and hand- 



ROMANCE OF MARRIAGE. 325 

pressure if you belong to the prudent modern school ; and then 
after you have run through the whole circle of pleasure that 
wealth affords, when your husband begins to appear ridiculous, 
buys books, or classifies shells, when your wishes become 
keener and the prospect of deliverance in time grows less, — 
why, then you lament your unhappy destiny, take to sal volatile, 
brandy and water, a favourite preacher, — sometimes to intrigue, 
and always to reading of deplorable novels, in which you can 
identify yourselves with characters whose innocence and con- 
stancy you have not imitated, or whose consolations threaten 
you with a jury and a verdict. 

I have already said that young girls in France are brought 
up with the idea that their great object in life is to make a 
good marriage. In order that no sentimental fancies may in- 
terfere with the transaction of what is really a piece of business, 
one idea is constantly presented to their minds, — namely, that 
as soon as they have a husband they will obtain their liberty 
and a position. Until then they are like unsold slaves in the 
market, and cast furtive glances at all likely customers. If they 
do happen to object to a match proposed by their parents, al- 
leging repugnance or previous affection, they are easily over- 
come without any dramatic scenes. An appeal is made to 
their affection and their reason, strengthened by insinuations of 
unknown pleasures and honours — rarely without success. It 
is not necessary to seek in any other cause than this the admit- 
ted frequency of the violation of the marriage vow. After "a 
little time, even in the best when the enthusiasm of self-sacri- 
fice has died away, when measure has been taken of purchased 
delights, when all the toys have been trifled with and broken, 
the wife passes from indifference to aversion, or, instructed by the 
books which she has acquired a privilege of reading, "feels her 
life dreary and seeks for a soul companion." A woman has 
already said, u L 1 ennui nous damned 

According to Madame Gasparin, young girls, whose edu- 



326 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

cation is scarcely finished, — who have just acquired certain 
elementary notions, — who have partly learned one or two lan- 
guages, — who have made a little progress in music and painting, 
are considered to be quite ready to undertake the duties of the 
marriage state. More positive writers have proposed that the 
law should forbid the early unions that now take place ; or, at 
any rate, that public opinion should interfere to bring about a 
reform, and postpone the period of marriage until a maiden 
has reached the age of twenty-one or twenty-two. Mothers cry 
out against this idea, because they think their responsibility 
quite heavy enough as it is. Three or four years more of in- 
tense watchfulness over a charge ever increasing in cunning 
would be too much. This objection arises from the fact that 
parents, in contradistinction to the law, believe that young girls 
are never able to take care of themselves. 

However, let us suppose that by the interposition of friends 
or relations it is agreed that a modest young maiden shall be 
united to a man more or less young, who is tired of a stormy 
single life, has discarded, or is ready to discard his mistresses, 
and, above all, who has got " a position." The first official 
ceremony is the signing of the contract, which generally takes 
place after one or two interviews have been allowed between 
the couple, — of course before witnesses. The disgusting mi- 
nuteness of the details discussed on the occasion are, according 
to all female writers, the first blow struck at conjugal happi- 
ness. Every possible case is foreseen — widowhood, legal sepa- 
ration, second marriage, birth or death of children — every 
poetical illusion or hope that might remain is pitilessly dispel- 
led. Both bridegroom and bride are forced to notice that they 
are entering into a kind of partnership, with family convenience 
for its principal object, the possibility of two or three children 
clearly laid down, the probability of domestic unhappiness dis- 
tinctly pointed out ; and if one or both choose to add to all 
this a romantic attachment, a real marriage, that is quite an- 
other affair, carefully kept out of sight. 



AN INCIDENT. 32*7 

I have already noticed the extent to which the lower classes 
in France imitate the manners of the higher. Since the estab- 
lishment of one uniform law, regulating the marriage of the 
poorest workman as of the haughtiest banker, there is a curious 
monotony in the language and sentiments of the whole country 
in this particular. Not long ago, a wealthy person went to a 
banker and said : " I want to marry your daughter : these are 
the title-deeds of my estates," — nothing more or less ; and the 
match was struck up at once. Generally speaking, however, 
it is the young lady that buys a husband. About the same 
time a peasant was about " to lead to the hymeneal altar " a 
bride all blushes and muslin, when her father observed : " Now 
I think of it, I must remind you that the great cherry-tree in 
the orchard remains mine.'' " Not so," said the bridegroom ; 
" I can't do without it." " You must." " Well, then, nothing 
has been done ;" and so the marriage was broken off, without 
any reference at all to the feelings and wishes of. the principal 
party interested. A still more absurd incident occurred the 
other day in my neighbourhood. A portress had betrothed 
her daughter, about fifteen years of age, to a barber, and pro- 
mised to give her a dowry of four hundred francs — sixteen 
pounds sterling. The day before the ceremony was to take 
place the young lady came to the shop, and, half opening the 
door, peeped in and cried out : " Mother says she has changed 
her mind about the dowry." The barber, who had the nose of 
a customer between his thumb and fore-finger, looked over his • 
shoulder, and said, "You are joking." "No; mother wants 
the money herself." "Then tell her," quoth her affianced, 
making a gash in his victim's chin, " that I shan't marry you." • 
The disappointed bride slammed the door and went away, cry- 
ing as bitterly as if she had spoilt a new gown. We constantly 
hear in Paris, in every class, of marriages discussed and broken 
off from motives of this kind. 

As a rule, the principal thing which a marrying man looks 



328 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

to is the amount of linen, furniture, or money his wife is to 
bring him. . She herself is a mere secondary consideration. This 
is the reason why mothers in poor or middling families pass so 
many years of their life in scraping and economising— some- 
times denying themselves and their husbands even necessary 
comforts, in order that their daughters may not be rejected by 
the fine, generous, high-spirited youth of France, who despise 
the sons of Albion for their shop-keeping propensities. Every 
unexpected piece of good luck is at once classified as " a con- 
tribution to my daughter's dowry ; " and this state of anxiety 
is so common, that when an offer of pecuniary corruption is 
made to an official, it is almost always concealed under a dis- 
interested solicitude for his daughter's welfare. How many 
hesitating men have been overcome by the tears and reproaches 
of their wives, who represent to them that their daughters are 
still unprovided for ! 

The interval that elapses between the signing of the con- 
tract and the celebration of the final ceremony — say a week or 
two — is supposed to be spent by the young people in becoming 
acquainted one with the other. They are then allowed a little 
more liberty of intercourse, but rarely see each other except in 
the presence of at least one witness. They sit at opposite sides 
of the room, and talk of the weather, or try to exhibit their in- 
tellectual acquirements. Any expansion of sentiment is as im- 
possible as it would be ridiculous. The contracting parties have 
been brought together by convenience — by prudence — by rea- 
son — not at all by affection. Neither they nor their friends 
pretend that. Sometimes, of course, love springs up ; but this 
must be after the marriage : for the tendency of a formal inter- 
view, in which every word is watched and weighed, and which 
cannot degenerate into familiarity, because, according to public 
opinion, neither the young man nor the young woman is to be 
trusted, is inevitably to destroy everything that has the remotest 
relation to romance. It is a common thing to say that romance 



THEORY OF APTITUDES. 329 

is neither respectable nor desirable — a superfluous ingredient in 
a marriage. I doubt it, because this sentiment, so dangerous 
and difficult to deal with, seems in women a necessary of life. 
They must indulge in it once at least, so that, if they are not 
allowed to do so before marriage, they will after ; and how few 
chances there are that the hero of their story will be their hus- 
band ! There are none, according to the French. 

Without positively maintaining the theory of aptitudes and 
sympathies, it is very evident that, unless we exclude love and 
passion altogether from the world, it is quite impossible for fa- 
milies to form and exist under proper conditions in a country 
where such is the theory and practice of marriage. The middle 
classes in France have recently raised or repeated the cry that 
the institution of the family was in danger ; and it is quite true 
that certain odious speculators have put forward theories that 
lead more or less directly to promiscuity. I should be quite 
ready to admit that stones and brickbats would be the proper 
punishments of such monstrosities, if contempt were not still 
more effectual. But under cover of what facts and arguments 
do these obscene enemies of civilisation advance to the attack 
of the only refuge for care that man possesses ? They describe, 
without much exaggeration, the present deplorable state of 
things ; they prove that, by law and by the influence of man- 
ners, marriage has already in France been entirely divested of 
its sacred character, and show that there is nothing whatever 
but the invincible repugnances of the best natures to prevent 
the family, according to its philosophical conception, from being 
utterly destroyed. They then argue, with real or affected ig- 
norance of the human character, that an equal number of legi- 
timate unions consecrated by love would take place if all regu- 
lations were destroyed, and that the remainder of the worid 
would be relieved from the discomfort and the sin of perpetually 
infringing laws that they detest. This is like killing a sick man 
who has one healthy part about him, and supposing that the 



S30 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

healthy part would continue in separate existence. Surely such 
speculations are not very dangerous. The danger lies in the 
existence of the corruptions that provoke them. These cor- 
ruptions have been pointed out likewise by shoals of writers, 
whose objects are more moral, and who desire to reform and 
not destroy ; but nearly all, without exception, have been 
silenced or wounded by the same terrible cry of " the family 
in danger," — " the family and property." Every one felt the in- 
timate and artificial connexion that existed between those two 
things. 

The fuglemen of the calumny, whom I cannot name, were 
and are living in open defiance of every law, divine and human, 
but well knew that the bourgeois, once convinced that his com- 
fortable arrangements were menaced with disturbance, would 
buckle on his shako and take up his musket, and massacre one 
day and cringe to despotism the next, without inquiring into 
the character of those who raised the cry, or the intention of those 
against whom it was directed. Many a worthy grocer, who tries 
to persuade himself that he is not his brother's keeper, who is 
uneasy and angry when the days of June are mentioned, took 
part in that frightful crime which has ever since stood like a 
spectre in the path of France, frightening it from progress, simply 
because he was led away by the idea that the insurgents intend- 
ed at once to make every woman a priestess of Corinth, and 
every till a national savings' bank. Strictly speaking, therefore, 
his only sin was ignorance. The real projects of the Democrat- 
ic party — not on that particular occasion, when the people gave 
way to bad passions in answer to a great provocation, but in 
general — were to retard the period of marriage, to give the wife 
a share in the administration of the common property and a le- 
gal right of government over her children, to allow divorce, and 
so on. Some of their proposals were objectionable, and all open 
to discussion ; but they never entertained any desire to destroy 
the institution of the family. Indeed, if they had said so, we 



THE CONSTITUTION OF '51. 331 

might safely have disbelieved them. They would only have 
been repeating a lesson they did not understand. The lower 
orders in France are not the angels their flatterers describe ; but 
they have two or three virtues which are almost prejudices with 
them, and which must be destroyed before they adopt the im- 
pure hallucinations of philosophical rakes. 

In France, however, as we have seen, marriage is not a union 
of persons, but a union of properties ; and those who cried out 
that " family and property " were conjointly in danger, really 
meant that property was menaced, and through it the institution 
of the family. Ludicrously stated, this was as much as to say 
that a man and woman marrying and having children, and liv- 
ing by their earnings, did not constitute a family ; and the de- 
magogues did not fail to point out that, according to such a con- 
ception, " the family " was a monopoly in the hands of the rich ! 

This is not the place to expound the conflicting theories of 
property in France. Many erroneous notions have been pro- 
pagated on the subject ; and, indeed, it is under favour of them 
that the Constitution was overthrown in 1851. Every one, how- 
ever, who, from ignorance or other motives, in any country, con- 
tributed to spread a conviction that the Republicans entertained 
any projects of " spoliation," may consider himself an accom- 
plice in the coup d'etat. There may have been a few thousand 
fellows with empty heads and empty pockets, who mistook the 
import of scientific discussions, and desired a general scram- 
ble ; but there was really no party at all " hostile to property." 
The Whigs and the Liberals generally, in England, have been 
accused of infidelity frequently, with about as much reason as 
the French Democrats of a design to spoliate. There is certain- 
ly a fundamental difference between the Conservatives and Re- 
publicans on this point, and the latter are not far wrong. If 
they had known how to express themselves in reasonable lan- 
guage, and been listened to with a little coolness, the opinion held 
of them amongst us would be somewhat different from what it 



332 PURPLE TINTS OP PARIS. 

is. The Conservatives maintain that the right of property is so 
sacred that even taxation is, to a certain extent, an infringement 
of it — that it is above all laws, immutable, a Divine institution. 
The Republicans reply, that property is a thing acquired by the 
favour of law, and remains amenable to legislation. In these 
terms the question seems to belong to the domain of pure Science ; 
but the practical deductions of the conflicting theories are wide- 
ly different. One school denies the right of the State to tax pro- 
perty in order to give assistance to the poor, for to do so is " spo- 
liation ; " and the other says that property may be taxed even 
to give work — " huge spoliation ! " One would abolish our poor 
law ; the other would substitute a mutual-assurance system, ac- 
cording to which every man, when out of work or unfortunate, 
would have a right to support ; which, of course, would be the 
extreme of " spoliation." These are mere hints ; but I think 
they justify me in saying that, in principle, the Republicans are 
right, though, when they come to details, they exhibit the won- 
derful want of practicalness which is characteristic of their nation. 
This digression will save me from the charge of being what 
is called a Socialist, if I now admit that the discontent and in- 
dignation which marriage, as at present constituted in France, 
arouses in certain writers, male and female, is to me perfectly 
comprehensible. Unfortunately, however, those who have ex- 
pressed their hostility most eloquently, have been satisfied with 
placing themselves in an antagonistic posture ; have chosen, as 
if on purpose to repel, illustrations of the strangest and most dan- 
gerous kind, and nearly always leave it in doubt whether they 
desire to destroy or to reform. I suspect that in general they 
are spurred by sufferings, either personal, or, at any rate, very 
near to them, and do not look much to consequences. Their 
function is criticism. They leave it to others to propose new 
plans and systems. It is too true, however, that the French 
mind is disposed, by an original defect, rather to destroy what 
displeases than to modify. If it cannot remain Catholic it be- 



RELIEF OF WIVES. 333 

comes Infidel. It wants measure and moderation. We must 
admit, accordingly, that although no party has ever con tern-* 
plated the abolition of marriage, there is a school quite distinct 
from the advocates of promiscuity, which tends, without being 
exactly conscious of its own objects, to take away the external 
sanction which law and religion give. 

Reasonable men, however, perceive, that though there are 
many things in the law capable of being altered with advan- 
tage, the chief evils attendant on marriage have another origin 
— in bad education, unenlightened public opinion, and general 
corruption. Speculation has lingered long on the means of 
getting the starling out of the cage, but has not troubled itself 
much about how it was first put in. It has thought of relieving 
wives already made, rather than of preventing other wives be- 
ing made under the same conditions. For this reason, I have 
often thought that all this cry, though addressed to a legitimate 
feeling, and founded on real grievances, was merely raised to 
justify intrigue and loose manners; which may be the case in 
many instances. 

Divorce was permitted under the old Republic and under 
the first Empire. Royalist writers have exaggerated its evil 
consequences ; but it is quite certain that a good many men 
changed their wives with marvellous rapidity. As in ancient 
Rome women began to count years by husbands, and not by 
consuls. On the other hand we must remember, that under 
the old regime, though people nominally remained man and 
wife, fidelity, amongst the courtiers at any rate, the elite of the 
nation, was considered perfectly ridiculous. Remarkable excep- 
tions there may have been ; but the rule was a freedom in the 
intercourse of the sexes which has, perhaps, never at any other 
time been equalled. This applies, however, almost entirely to 
the upper classes ; for the bourgeoisie, to whom corruption came 
later, were often staid and sober, although their wives did allow 
themselves sometimes to be visited by young courtiers. The 



334 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

great misfortune, however, was, that theories and opinions in 
morals were formed amongst the noblesse and inherited by 
those who became their political successors. 

"We have never yet been told how far, and in what way, 
the observation by the people of the corruption of their gover- 
nors brings about revolutions. Those who have enlarged on 
this topic, seem to imagine that the lower orders have con- 
demned the upper in the spirit of severe moralists, but I am 
afraid that they have condemned and imitated. Every one has 
heard the murder of the Duchess of Praslin ; and a dozen 
instances of flagrant corruption mentioned, as among the causes 
of the Revolution of February. They were merely taken as 
proved examples of the extent to which the governing classes, 
under the monarchy of July, had enfranchised themselves from 
the laws of morality. We must not suppose, indeed, that in- 
stances of this kind merely stated in the press could produce 
any wonderful effect. The conduct of every wealthy or even 
comfortable family is watched, with attention that is sometimes 
malignant, by five or six poorer neighbours ; and if startling 
public revelations come to confirm private remarks, then it is 
that the revolution of contempt takes place. We may be as- 
sured that all our vices, our false steps, even our desires, are 
better known to those who are a station below us, than to our 
equals. My father will, no doubt, develope these causes of rev- 
olutions in the little book on a great subject which he is about 
to publish, entitled, " The Nemesis of Power." 



CHAPTEE XXIII. 

Marriage Customs— Humorous Persecution— Dinners at the Barrier— Materials — 
Jokes and Songs — Dancing — An Impatient Locksmith — The Socialists — Making 
Acquaintance with the Bride — Illusions of Youth — A sham-delicate Idea — Two 
Aristocracies— After the Honeymoon— Beating "Wives— Due de Praslin— Austeri- 
ty of the old Bourgeoisie— Female Admirers of the Emperor— Joys of Marriage 
— Antagonists of the Institution — George Sand — Women and Circumstances — 

Female Education— Madame L " Successes " in Society— M. Toussenel — An 

affectionate Mother— A dutiful "Wife — Accepting Presents— Consequence of Im- 
morality — Eight and Expediency — A fortunate Bake — Auguste Guyard and 
Prejudice— M Leynardier on Family Life— Laws of Property. 

There are some things in the way in which a French marriage 
is concluded very different from ours. Amongst the higher 
classes, a banquet and a ball are given in the house of .the 
bride's parents ; but the young couple, instead of hurrying away 
to some distant inn after the ceremony, remain and take part in 
the rejoicings. The nuptial chamber is prepared in the house. 
A ceremony called " putting the bride to bed " is still practised 
in some families, but is no longer considered fashionable. 
Whilst the dancing is going on, the mother and mother-in- 
law of the trembling victim take possession of her and lead 
her to the bridal chamber, where, in presence of some few priv- 
iliged young ladies, she is decked out in articles of dress with 
which I am not familiar, including a cap or cornette garnished 
with lace, which seems to have a symbolical signification. Of 
old, if all this had not been done with due solemnity, there 
would have been no blessing on the union. In many provin- 
cial districts the whole ceremony is a very noisy and boisterous 



336 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

one. During the dinner, some dexterous and impudent fellow 
creeps under the table, and, watching his opportunity, snatches 
off the bride's garter, which he afterwards exhibits to great 
applause. Then everybody tries to catch hold of the bride and 
tantalise the bridegroom. Young wags, who envy his courage, 
revenge themselves by keeping the couple apart as long as they 
can, and the story of the mean Nicaise has more than once 
been carried out. Very often, even, after the happy pair have 
been some time retired, an irruption is made into the room by 
a crowd of young men and women, one of whom carries a 
huge bowl of hot wine, well sugared and spiced, the qualities 
of which are enumerated in a speech. The father of the bride 
sometimes comes in and disperses this merry mob with a horse- 
whip. 

The workmen and the classes immediately above them, are 
often still more noisy on these interesting occasions. When the 
ceremony has been performed, first at the Mairie and then at 
the Church, the whole bridal party gets into cabs and hackney- 
coaches, whose drivers have their shining hats decorated with 
white favours, and drive to some restaurant outside the barrier. 
A large hall has been bespoken beforehand, with perhaps din- 
ner for a hundred, paid for not unfrequently by subscription. 
The dishes are substantial ; soup, boiled beef, veal, salad, cheese, 
apples, and what are called, for some mysterious reason, the 
four beggars — nuts, figs, almonds, and raisins, mixed together. 
Of course, there is abundance of common wine, with coffee and 
a thimbleful of brandy afterwards. In a little time the guests 
begin to feel merry, and jokes shoot up here and there like the 
preliminary rockets of a fire-work show. By degrees there is a 
perfect volley of them, not always of the most modest or ele- 
gant description. The delicacy of the bride thus receives strange 
shocks. Even the young girls present understand what is 
meant, and giggle amongst themselves. At the dessert some 
grandame strikes up a ditty, commemorative of the good old 



WAYS AT THE PARTY. 337 

time when she was a heroine in such a scene, full of double 
meanings and sly allusions, which seem only the more piquant 
because uttered by a voice that trembles partly from age, partly 
from excitement, and partly from regret. Comic songs follow, 
and sentimental ; and at last the bride herself vouchsafes a 
tender ditty, the words of which are melted into an unintelligible 
murmur. At length the table is cleared away, and, whilst the 
old people continue drinking in corners, the young begin to 
dance, and keep up the ball until no hour in the morning. As 
for the couple, they slip away early and go home, unless there 
is a coalition of mischievous bachelors, who engage the bride 
for several dozen dances, and mercilessly hand her from one to 
the other. Amongst the workmen such tricks are not so suc- 
cessful as they might be ■ amongst the middle classes, where 
there is more false shame. I heard the other day of a stout 
locksmith, who, irritated by being kept waiting a little too long, 
knocked down the wag, and seizing his wife in his arms like a 
child, carried her away, to the immense applause of the compa- 
ny. The Socialists, by the by, declare that " the coarseness with 
which legitimate unions are carried on revolts the modesty of 
all decent lovers, and fills with disgust every delicate heart." 
They recommend secret marriages, to be announced, after a 
reasonable interval, by the young wife appearing in public with 
a crown of red roses on her head. 

All this is very pleasant to talk about, and the ordinary 
Frenchman thinks it all the more pleasant to act, because he 
has, in truth, to make the acquaintance of his bride after she is 
his. He seems to feel somewhat as we should if, on turning a 
corner, a beautiful maiden leaped suddenly into our arms. It 
would be agreeable "rather to feel than see" the beating of 
her heart ; and all without the trouble of telling the story of 
any crazy knight ! Certainly. But in that case I should take 
the liberty of leaving her at the next turning ; unless, which 
is very improbable, our tastes, wishes, characters were accident- 
16 



338 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

ally found to agree. The French seem to fear that any near 
inspection might dissipate what they call " their illusions" — 
that is to say, the fantastical notions of women — marriageable 
women — which they deliberately entertain. It is a singular 
thing to hear young men gravely hoping that they may long 
retain these said " illusions," without perceiving that they re- 
semble students who should say, " Let our blunders, which we 
have found out, since we give them that name, be everlasting ! '' 
An Englishman may regret the time when he was deceived 
into believing in beauty and truth — as well he may, for he has 
then gone down in the world ; but it seems to us simply comic 
to apply the word "illusion" to a state in which we are and 
wish to remain. The great defect of the French character is 
" consciousness." They never forget themselves, and thus seem 
always acting a part. A person of undoubted integrity, mak- 
ing a public oration, will, pause to reflect on his qualities, and, 
laying his hand on his breast, call himself " a man of heart 
and honour ! " Their literature has taught them this in part. 
They actually do describe the state of their own minds in 
speaking, just like the heroes of Corneille and Racine. When, 
therefore, they talk of their " illusions," we may suppose that 
they refer to what others thinks of them, to the figure they 
would cut in a narrative, and to what will be their own opinion 
when they grow old. 

A sparkling French writer has confessed that he always 
tried to regard a genteel young lady as a cloud of gauze, with 
head, hands, and feet appended, — a sham-delicate idea which 
expresses how this effete nation has desecrated woman in its 
thoughts. No doubt similar, though perhaps less fantastical, 
notions prevail among the inexperienced young girls. At any 
rate, they nearly all afterwards declare that, when a few weeks 
or months of honeymoon have flown by, they are " disenchant- 
ed," and that life begins to assume a dreary aspect. 

" There are now only two aristocracies," cries a lady ; " the 



THE PRASLIN MURDER. 339 

aristocracy of the skin and the aristocracy of the beard ! " It 
seems to be a complaint in France, that after the initiatory 
period of the union, which has no resemblance to a marriage 
at all, the husband begins too soon and too suddenly to domi- 
neer. Accordingly reformers apply themselves assiduously to 
search out means of sedition or redress, whilst the victims gen- 
erally, instead of removing to Mount Aventine, introduce the' 
Gauls into the Capitol. The real cause of discomfort, however, 
is, that the husband, not being able to feel affection for his 
wife, grows weary of satisfying her caprices when the motive 
for complaisance has diminished, and takes the " short method " 
of tyranny. Amongst the people the question of precedence 
is settled by blows, and it would be as difficult to persuade a 
French peasant as an English navigator that he had not a per- 
fect right to beat his partner. At the other extreme of the 
social hierarchy a couple soon settle ck>wn into indifference, and 
have often no other relations than those of the salon and the 
table. Every one knows the strange revelations of aristocratic 
wedded life that were made at the time of the murder of the 
Duchess of Praslin ; how the Duke drove his wife from his 
bed, abused her before the servants in language fit for a stable, 
chased her up stairs, and smashed her collection of porcelain, 
before working himself up to the commission of his great crime. 
These two miserable people, though their relations were suffi- 
ciently disgusting, showed by the very violence of their out- 
breaks that they were not at all content to adopt the vile sys- 
tem of mutual toleration, which those who believe that jealousy, 
however well-founded, is ridiculous, and who look upon mar- 
riage as a mere partnership, have invented. 

Under the ancient regime the wives of 'the bourgeoisie, 
though sometimes exposed to the attacks of dissolute courtiers, 
bore the reputation of being generally faithful. In the pro- 
vinces, a widow who married a third time was sure to be treated 
to a charivari^ permitted by the authorities and sanctioned by 



340 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

public opinion. At present, as I have already mentioned, these 
traces of austerity have disappeared as characteristics of any 
particular class, although, perhaps, the morality of the country 
has a little improved. We shall see whether, if the Empire 
last, it will succeed in checking the purification that had begun. 
I am afraid it will, to a certain extent ; because, now that the 
first feeling of indignation has subsided, I find many ladies of 
average respectability beginning to admire his Imperial Majesty, 
confessedly on account of his " success ; " and of course it would 
be absurd to expect that any woman, who sends her applause 
in that direction, can have any elevated ideas of probity or chas- 
tity. The support, however, which the Emperor receives from 
the fair sex is quite adventitious and unsought for, and he is no 
more to be blamed for making courtesans of them than would 
any physiologist for writing a book, that, falling into the hands 
of youth, might suggest improper ideas. 

It seems to be admitted by most speculative writers, that 
marriage, as instituted at least in France, is productive of more 
sorrows than joys. Comparatively few unions remain long un- 
disturbed ; and, even if there are no outbreaks, no struggles 
visible to the eyes of the world — if we may believe the testi- 
mony of women, there is not the more harmony or peace for 
that. Some have said that matrimony is a state of double 
selfishness ; and hosts deplore, in eloquent language, its " decep- 
tions." The influence of the works of George Sand was great, 
because they corresponded with the state of female public opin- 
ion. They did not invent, but drew attention to existing 
grounds of complaint ; and excited opposition, chiefly because 
they seemed to suggest an absurd remedy. All French wo- 
men have read and wept over "Indiana;" but the misfortune 
is, that brilliant writing of this kind often comes to the assist- 
ance of wayward dispositions, and supplies excuses for acts that 
would, however, be probably performed at any rate. Indeed, 
the tendency of most works of this class, and of the school from 



TRAINING OF WOMEN. 341 

which they proceed, is to excite a kind of moral insurrection 
against some of the most important laws of society. The sec- 
taries — who are often disappointed old maids or truant wives — 
have, as usual, gone beyond their prophets, claiming and exer- 
cising perfect independence. 

It seems a common opinion in France — and I have heard 
it repeated in England — that the qualities by which women are 
chiefly differenced from men are the product of education and 
habit. A lady writer even grumbles at the truth of the saying 
that her sex is more merciful, more gentle, more loving, than 
ours, and attributes this sentimental superiority to the seclusion 
in which women are kept. It is true that the tender parts of a 
character are better developed in solitude, which acts precisely 
in the same way on priests, poets, and philosophers. On the 
other hand, it is equally true that our mothers and sisters might 
become hard and selfish if brought into rough contact with the 
world, whilst we have no examples of their acquiring many of 
the noble qualities by which men earn forgiveness for their 
defects. We must not forget, however, how rare it is for wo- 
men, in their domestic condition, to develope all the virtues of 
which they are capable. In France — at any rate, amongst the 
middle classes, where the influence of social regulations is 
greatest — we find an exaggerated cultivation of cunning and 
subtilty. Few diplomatists could understand, or contend with, 
the Parisian bourgeosie upon her own ground. 

One of the commonest causes or excuses for conjugal infi- 
delity in France, among the inferior class of traders for example, 
is the comparatively complete cultivation of the women. I do 
not mean exactly that they have more positive knowledge than 
their husbands, but they are better trained. Besides, their 
imaginations are naturally more active, and fuller of ideas of 
elegant luxury. In England, we sometimes hear of young 
ladies eloping with their fathers' footmen. JSTo example of this 
kind ever came to my ears in France. The women there — not 



342 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

the unmarried, for they are usually too well kept — always 
intrigue with men placed in a superior position to themselves. 
They are led away more by their fancies than by their senses. 

Madame L is a case in point. She was early married to a 

workman of very industrious habits, but rough and coarse in 
manners. I can now count upon my fingers half-a-dozen of her 
lovers, though for many years she seemed to me a pattern of 
demureness. One was an artist, another was a medical man, 
another a sculptor. She was never governed by interest, never 
received a present that I know of ; but she was won by an ex- 
cursion into the country, an elegant breakfast, or an evening at 
the theatre. Her husband worked his way up in the world, and 
became a shopkeeper ; but her fondness for dress and her pro- 
bity ruined him, and she is now living on a sixth story, whilst 
he has been reduced to take some humble situation. 

In all classes in France one pernicious notion or habit circu- 
lates, according to which wives, young and old, when they go 
into society, are allowed, and even expected, to aim at what are 
called " successes ; " that is, at captivating, by their toilette or 
their beauty, the attention and admiration of men. I had 
scarcely written down this remark, when I remembered how 
often this is the case in our own demure island, which after all, 
despite my good will, cannot be chosen as the Utopia with 
which I may compare the aberrations of the French. This said, 
let us inquire what is the conception among our neighbours of 
the rights and duties of wives. " I have seen," cries M. Tous- 
senel, in a paroxysm of admiration, " young mothers, not more 
than twenty years old, ready adorned for the ball, give up their 
toilette and their legitimate hopes of successes, and take off, 
with tears in their eyes it is true, their armour of battle, to obey 
the ferocious caprices of pitiless brats, who have become accus- 
tomed not to sleep unless their mother sits beside them holding 
their hand ! " The Vicomte Segur tells another anecdote weU 
worthy to be placed beside this one. He says that during the 



PRESENTS. 343 

t 

Revolution he several times met a young and pretty woman, 
apparently exhausted with fatigue, in the ante-chamber of the 
Ministry of the Interior. On asking who she was, he learned 
that she spent all the night in dancing till five o'clock, but got 
up, nevertheless, at seven, to perforin the pious duty of solicit- 
ing the release of her husband, then detained in prison, and that 
she had continued this kind of life without intermission for a 
whole month ! I have already mentioned the perseverance 
with which wives, notoriously unfaithful, attend to the comforts 
and the interests of their partners. 

It is the custom of most French married women to accept 
presents from their friends, not merely such things as books or 
bouquets, but articles of furniture, vases, timepieces, dresses 
and bonnets. Even very scrupulous ladies are said to boast of 
the munificence of the offerings made to them, in order to pro- 
voke the tardy to do likewise. Among the humbler classes 
useful presents are rarely refused, unless they be offered too 
abruptly ; and then the observation is, " If it had been on New- 
year's eve, or on my fete day, or " and so on. It is the 

custom at a christening for godfathers to make presents, not only 
to the child, but to its friends, and especially to the godmother, 
If she happen to be pretty, these presents often lead a great 
way. They may vary from gloves to silk dresses. The god- 
mother, also, is expected to make presents, but these are often 
supplied by her compere, as her colleague is called. Mademoi- 
selle Fifine, however, on one occasion, in a moment of ostenta- 
tion, out of her own savings, gave a cloak, worth forty-five 
francs, to the child of Madame L . 

It is unnecessary to draw the consequences of these desul - 
tory observations on the married state. I have already, in pre- 
vious chapters — with the best precautions I could take to guard 
against an exaggerated impression — intimated that in France 
triere prevails a general disregard, practical and theoretical, of 
the sacredness of marriage. In this melancholy truth, even 



344 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

more than in intellectual defects, we may seek for one of the 
chief explanations of the calamitous vicissitudes of the country's 
social history. You cannot make freemen or steady citizens of 
any kind out of men of pleasure. The French are fond of uttering 
sonorous phrases about Morality. When we come to examine, 
however, what their notion of it is, we find that they speak not 
of the code from which our rules of conduct are derived, but of 
a certain transcendental something which has no relation to the 
affairs of this life. Most of them would smile with contempt if 
you mentioned " gallantry " as a sin ; but they never reflect 
that the idea of right is one, and that if you set it aside in order 
to take another man's wife, it will not come back to save you 
from taking another man's purse. In its place you will find the 
idea of expediency, according to which you avoid the prison or 
the scaffold, and which sanctifies everything that escapes punish- 
ment. Most persons in France, even those who were at first 
the most indignant — all except a select few — most persons in 
France, and many in England, are beginning to appeal to a sort 
of statute of limitations against any censure of the coup d'etat. 
They look upon the Emperor as a Fortunate Rake, who has 
broken several commandments it is true, but who has not been 
mulcted in damages or lost his position in society. We can 
never expect the French to become a nation of Puritans, but 
there will be hope for them only when they purify their ideas 
of the relations of the two sexes. Gross-minded people, even 
amongst us, have maintained that government was instituted 
" for the protection of life and property." Its real duty is to 
maintain that peace and that prosperity in the midst of which 
we may carry out the command, which is a blessing, " Love 
one another." 

Lest my views be taxed with prejudice, let us see what 
is a Frenchman's opinion upon family life. We shall find that 
in this, as in almost every other case, native criticism is more severe 
than foreign would dare to be. Scarcely one of my strictures on 



FAMILY LIFE. 345 

the French character would be left unsupported if I sought tes- 
timonies from their literature. I have just shown a previous 
page to my friend M. Auguste Guyard, and he has reminded 
me that in his charming, though sometimes too audacious, 
volume of paradox and wit, called " Quintessences," he goes 
much beyond me ; for whereas I say that the French indiffer- 
ently assault prejudices and principles, he maintains that the 
nation is " so much the slave of prejudice that, when it attacks 
prejudice, it is because it is prejudiced against it." 

M. Leynardier, in his " History of the Family," draws the 
following picture, which would be correct if he had not forgotten 
to mention that the natural affections, despite institutions, often 
burst through and suffuse the canvass with brighter tints. He 
says, " Family life no longer exists in France, unless we choose 
to give that name to an accidental aggregation of members, 
over which chance, rather than affection, presides. They collect 
together from habit ; they shun one another from ennui ; and 
they separate from interest, when they can do without one an- 
other, or when, the death of one of the heads of the family oc- 
curring, the children ask for the share of the inheritance that 
then comes to them of right. This they go and gnaw sulkily 
in a corner alone, leaving the surviving head with, perhaps, a 
moderate annuity. If the division only takes place at the 
death of both father and mother, the sole difference is, that the 
scandal of an ignoble abandonment or a painful isolation is 
avoided. In both cases, everything has to be begun again. 
New families are formed. The old family disappears. The 
ties of affection are weakened. Sympathetic instincts are an- 
nulled. Hereditary traditions are forgotten." 

M. Leynardier attributes a good deal too much to the in- 
fluence of property. Indeed he would seem to argue, that the amia- 
ble state he regrets was based on the fact that the property of the 
family was long kept in one hand, and that domestic happiness 
was founded on expectant hypocrisy. Of course bickerings do 
16* 



346 PURPLE TINTS OP PARIS. 

occur at most post-mortem divisions. I was waked up one 
night by the cries of *a man dying of cholera in my house, and 
shortly afterwards was disturbed by a fight between his brothers 
for a pair of his pantaloons. But it would be scarcely philo- 
sophical to argue that, on this account, the pantaloons and all 
the rest of his clothes should have been given, by law, to one 
person. Younger brothers, even if they agree with their elder, 
do so in spite of the absurd custom which leaves them, almost 
penniless, to compete, backed by influence in the place of know- 
ledge, for the prizes of the lucrative professions. 






CHAPTER XXIV. 

Natural Sentiments — Dutiful Sons — An awkward Maternal Visit — Family Festivi- 
ties — Presents— Joviality — Sunday Afternoon— Ordinary French Living— Cheap- 
ness— French and English Dinners— The Noblesse— Luxury— Glutton's Bazaars — 
Clothing Marts— Artifices of Tradesmen— The Blouse and the Black Coat— Upper 
and Lower Classes — Ladies in Families — Afternoon Exceptions — Eules — Charac- 
ter of the Fat— His Conversation— Green Peas— "The "Weather and the Crops" — 
Esbrouffe — A Paradox— Scandalous Stories — Imprisonment — A Visit to Mazas — 
Habeas Corpus — French Homes. 

I must not omit to mention that, in some of their manifesta- 
tions, the paternal and filial sentiments are strong in France. 
To illustrate this, a story is told of a woman who, sitting by the 
cradle of an expiring child, heard the priest say, " Be resigned; 
God himself consented to the loss of his Son." She replied, 
" Ah ! but he was not his mother ! " On less sublime occasions 
we may constantly meet with instances of extreme affection of 
both father and mother towards their offspring. A pleasant 
sight may sometimes be witnessed in the streets of Paris — ele- 
gant young men walking along, arm-in-arm, with old ladies 
dressed in the comical simplicity of the provinces, in thick shoes 
and odd bonnets — mothers come up to visit their sons, who, in- 
stead of being ashamed of them, promenade them about every- 
where, and hold up their heads with pride when any companion 
heaves in sight. Sometimes these good ladies, it is true, appear 
at odd times and in odd ways. Once upon a time an immense 
quantity of lace and starch, amalgamated into a sort of winged- 
balloon, was seen coming up my staircase, supported by a little 



348 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

woman some three feet and a half high, bearing a basket as 
big as herself. She had heard that her son was ill, and had 
set out to nurse him with a huge amount of provisions, not 
only delicacies for him, but coarse stuff for herself. She was 
persuaded that nothing wholesome was to be got in Paris. Her 
dutiful offspring was not quite so bad as he represented himself 
to be, and was in fact going down-stairs on an expedition to the 
country with some Eose Pompon or other, when the shrill voice 
of Madame Joseph was heard keeping the mother at bay. In 
an instant I was requested to help " to form a chain," and a 
variety of articles — the old bonnet in which Rose had come, 
with the bandbox in which the new one had been brought, a 
faded shawl, and other things which I was requested not to look 
at, that had formed the chrysalis out of which the pretty, flur- 
ried butterfly, that gave them to me had issued, — the whole kit, 
I say, was passed rapidly into my room, whither the said Rose 
also retired during the ill-timed maternal visit. My neighbour 
received his mother with the languor necessary in an invalid, 
and never left her side during the whole week that she re- 
mained, sending obdurate messages to the disappointed beauty, 
and behaving, as he said, wagging his crown, like one who 
knows his filial duties. 

Some of the forms of family life in France are not unpleas- 
ing. On the eve of the festival of the patron saint of any mem- 
ber — birthdays are never celebrated — it is the custom to. pre- 
sent bouquets or pots of flowers, and to forget this formality is 
considered a mark of ill-breeding. The fete kept with most 
splendour is generally that of a grandfather. All his posterity 
bring him flowers, and wish him " many happy returns of the 
day ; " and the nosegays are collected and heaped up in a tray 
in the midst of the table at dinner-time. The meal is quite a 
solemn affair, though often succeeded by songs. A little less 
formality is exhibited in celebrating the fetes of fathers and 
mothers. Husbands and wives make presents to each other 



HOLIDAY OCCASIONS. 349 

on these occasions. The ladies have the best memories, and 
are the most generous considering their means. Madame 
L presented her lord last year with a watch ; Madame Jo- 
seph hers with half a dozen shirts ; Fifine gave Agricole a pair 

of boots that did not fit him ; but Madame G , poor thing, 

could find nothing better to bestow than a fine boy. Workmen 
often signalize the fete of a popular employer by a carouse at a 
cabaret. 

There are other occasions on which families find an excuse 
for merriment, as on New-year's Eve and Pancake Day ; but, 
in general, the interior of a French house is remarkable for 
complete absence of what we call " joviality." As this arises 
in part from the excellent custom of only drinking at meals, 
and then only wine and water, it is good. Nobody sits, as is 
the case with so many of our middle classes, after meals sipping 
toddy ; or passing a Sunday, church and dinner having been 
got through, over oranges, nuts, port and sherry — in a half- 
sleepy state, from which tea is to arouse them for a few hours 
of consciousness and preparation for a stifling supper. But the 
French go to an opposite extreme. However gay and life-like 
they may appear in public, their homes are dreary and dull. 
No wonder they like to escape from them. Perhaps, indeed, 
they expend so much of their animal spirits abroad that they 
have none to spare for their families. 

Most French people are economical, and even mean in the 
way they live at home. We hear great talk of their cookery, 
their delicate dishes, their fine taste, and so forth ; bat these are 
displayed as a rule only on high days and holidays. A com- 
mon French dinner consists of a vast amount of soup, of the 
beef that has been boiled down, and perhaps a dish of vege- 
tables, with bread and a little wine. When a ragout is added, 
it contains, perhaps, a little meat, with onions ad libitum, and 
grease ditto. The servants — generally country girls, brought 
up from distant parts for cheapness 1 sake — know nothing of 



350 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

cookery ; and the lady of the house and the children soon get 
used to this kind of food, whilst the master — regardless of the 
school-boy's maxim, " Do not make others eat that which you 
do not like to eat yourself " — takes every opportunity of dining 
abroad. 

The restaurants are always come-at-able, with their dinners 
at from twenty -five sous, upwards. I have often heard French- 
men criticise our economical English eating-houses. They 
laugh at the solid dishes of Bucklersbury, and starve over the 
semblance of a delicate meal at the Palais Royal. Their 
stomachs rise at the idea of satisfying their hunger with one 
plate of meat ; they must have, or seem to have, a variety of 
dishes : must begin with soup, and end with dessert. The 
cheapest restaurants pretend to meet this demand ; but what- 
ever they give is in such small quantities, that I have often been 
reminded of the Irish potatoes and point, and sometimes of the 
Barmecide's feast. A French dinner, in fact, really consists of 
bread, with a mouthful or two of tit-bits to relish it. When 
this abstemious way of living arises from poverty, of course it 
is respectable ; and the only point for ridicule is the preservation 
of the forms of a regular meal whilst the thing itself does not 
exist : but not only do the struggling classes feed in this mean 
way, but the. aristocracy of the Faubourg St. Germain likewise. 
If you are invited to dinner in that direction, it is good to take 
a late lunch ; for you will generally have little else set before 
you besides plates and dishes. The origin of this paltry style 
of existence was that, under Louis Philippe's reign, the no- 
blesse determined to curtail their expenses in order to starve out 
the usurping Government — a Machiavellian policy, which, for- 
getting the story of the fly on the wheel, they maintain suc- 
ceeded to the extent of their hopes. The habits they acquired 
during this period were found to be so suitable to their position, 
that they will most probably always preserve them. The 
greater number of the nobles are priest-ridden ; and what they 



FRENCH ECONOMY. 351 

save by starving themselves, their wives, their families, and 
their servants, in their magnificent hotels, probably contributes 
to advance the cause of Jesuitism. 

If we seek for real luxury — I mean of the table — in Paris, 
we must do so amougst the high bourgeoisie, the lords of finance 
and the fortunate adventurers of the Imperial Court. For them 
it is that are kept open what I call the Glutton's Bazaars — the 
Magasins de Comestibles — certainly the most curious-looking 
shops to be seen in Paris. There are symmetrically arranged all 
kinds of fruits, all kinds of game, all kinds of fish ; for fishmon- 
gers' shops, properly so called, are prohibited in Paris, as diffus- 
ing an unwholesome odour. Gorgeous bunches of grapes that 
suggest wine-making to be sacrilege, beautiful blooming peaches, 
indigo-coloured prunes, pomegranates that remind the traveller 
of the bosoms of Eastern virgins, vast pine-apples, cocoa-nuts, 
and all kinds of exotic fruits, are tastefully mingled with flowers 
and mosses. Entire roebucks, boars' heads and hams, hares, 
rabbits, pheasants and woodcocks, snipes, partridges, thrushes, 
ducks, ortolans — all kinds of game — are either heaped in pic- 
turesque confusion or nicely arranged in baskets ; in the centre 
of which, perhaps, is a large turkey stuffed with quails and 
truffles, of which all Frenchmen think themselves bound to be 
passionately fond. Close at hand are enormous pike, carp, trout, 
and turbot, with here and there little basins of gold-fish. Cray- 
fish are common, but lobsters not. Large crabs are seldom seen, 
but there are tortoises, oysters, and snails. In some shops, also, 
fine cheeses, Strasbourg pies, potted meats, and various kinds of 
delicate wines and liqueurs are sold. Nature abhors a vacuum, 
they say ; but it is easy to see that this phenomenon exists in the 
stomachs and the pockets of most of those who linger of even- 
ings before the brightly-lighted windows of these establish- 
ments. 

Among the other remarkable shops of Paris are the ready- 
made men's clothes marts, where most of the middle classes 



352 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

dress ; and the great bazaars of ladies' finery, before the win- 
dows of which I advise no young man to allow any grisette to 
lead him. Many of those places have oddly characteristic 
names. A shoe-shop in the Rue du Bac bears the device " A 
la Grace de Dieu." Their distinguishing features are elegance 
of arrangement and comparative cheapness. With the excep- 
tion of woollen articles, everything seems to be dearer in the 
clothing department in London than in Paris ; and I am inclined 
to think we have accustomed ourselves to pay arbitrary prices. 
Our manner of counting by pounds instead of by francs is per- 
haps an impediment to economy. In the cheap Paris shops a 
number of well-known artifices continue to be used to catch 
customers. Prices, for example, are given thus : — 1 franc 95 
centimes — two francs would frighten. Some articles are marked 
99 francs 95 centimes, instead of 100 francs. In the same 
spirit, fruit-girls will call out in their old women's voices, 
" Peaches for two sous." If you wish to buy you are asked 
three sous, and easily get an explanation — that the cry was 
simply to excite people by the hope of cheapness. 

I may mention that the use of cloth clothes is still much 
more general in England than in France. Indeed, except in 
Paris, the national costume may be said to be the blouse. A 
black coat is the sign of an aristocrat : and in the time of in- 
surrection becomes the mark at which the peasantry fire. A 
good many of the outrages committed after the coup d ''etat, 
and attributed to the Republicans, must in reality be laid at the 
doors of the Bonapartists, who, having been long worked upon 
by the Socialist emissaries of the present Emperor, thought they 
would be carrying out his wishes by attacking everything re- 
spectable. Indeed, even at present, the Legitimists and Orlean- 
ists are kept quiet in country places by a threat, which they 
may have invented themselves, that if they stir the Government 
will give the signal of " a war against the chateaux." 

If the upper classes in France believe anything at all, it is 



FRENCH LUXURY. 353 

that the lower classes are portentiously envious and wicked. 
Yes ; they may be said to be persuaded of that fact. It is 
common to hear repeated the saying, that to keep a country in 
order, you require only a good parquet and plenty of gendarmes. 
Among the same gentlemen it is also customary to boast that, 
in France, " the law is an atheist." Fathers, when handing over 
their children to private preceptors, think it very fine to observe : 
" Never say a word to my son about religion." Then they are 
astonished and angry at the immorality of the poor. Some 
French popular writer, seeing a murderer led to the scaffold, 
remarked, "There is a man who has mistaken the road to hap- 
piness ! " Fine teacher of the people ! 

One or two more observations on character and manners 
naturally present themselves here. I shall anon have occasion 
to mention how much of the government of the family is thrown 
in France upon the women. There seems to be an idea preva- 
lent amongst us that a French lady is a sort of butterfly, flut- 
tering about the house or away from the house, but always 
appearing in the character of an ornament. This is far from 
being the real state of the case. So few families in France may 
be called wealthy, that most of the bright things we sometimes 
see in public are compelled very practically to look after their own 
affairs at home. There are, of course, exceptions among the 
upper bourgeoisie, and in the Faubourg St. Germain, sufficient 
to form a class ; but what we should call mere fashionables are 
quite rare in Paris — the city of elegance and intrigue. Half 
the ladies who attend the Imperial balls have been in the kitchen 
that very day scolding their bonnes, and lifting up the lids of 
their casseroles. 

A really elegant dame spends the morning at her toilette, 
and is ready to be admired at four o'clock in the afternoon. 
Admirers are not long in coming. In many houses, from four 
to five gentlemen call in, and are received in the salon by the 
lady alone. No visitor of her own sex is expected, and her 



354 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

husband is away making calls on his own account. If he were 
to remain and be present at his wife's reception, he would be 
considered simply ridiculous ; and this is a thing which he most 
especially avoids. Many Frenchmen would rather be what they 
often are, than run the risk of being supposed to be guarding 
against such an accident. These afternoon meetings, however, 
are very pleasant ; and when the lady of the house is clever 
and lively, are, perhaps, superior in enjoyment to the soirees. 
A woman is never seen to so much advantage as when no rivals 
are present. She is then conscious of exercising undivided 
sway ; none of her powers are wasted in spiteful watching for 
defects in others, and there is no maliciousness in her amia- 
bility. 

If there be a drawback to the delight of these meetings, it 
is in the frequent presence of a thing called a fat in French — 
answering somewhat to our dandy. He may be distinguished 
(if the observations of a philosopher may be depended on) by 
his decisive and yet disconnected conversation, the lightness of 
his judgments, the temerity of his censures, the indiscretion of 
his narratives, the bad taste of his jokes, the false brilliancy of 
his witticisms, the affectation of his manners, the impudence of 
his mien, the familiarity of his address, the conceit of his atti- 
tude, and the self-satisfied air of constraint diffused over his 
whole person. We see at once that his mind, like his feet, is 
in tight boots. Some of these bright youths imitate the voice 
of women ; others affect lisping ; others avoid, like Orientals, 
names of ill-augury — as death, bankruptcy, duelling, and so 
forth. At the same time they are fond of using, on the slight- 
est occasion, such words as despair, horror, frightful, monstrous, 
tremendous, magnificent. The highest point to which this la- 
mentable absurdity has ever risen was, perhaps, in the case of 
the Count Dassarre, who, being very beautiful, fancied himself 
to be Cupid, and went so mad that Ue ran about, with a bow 
and quiver for his only costume. I have often heard the most 



FASHIONABLE PEOPLE. 355 

amazing 1 observations proceed from gentlemen of this kind, and 
be received as evidences of profound wisdom. A ludicrous in- 
stance is that of a fat, who predicted that from atmospherical 
causes, not a single green pea would be eaten in Paris in the 
course of the season. The words were scarcely out of his 
mouth, when a man cried " green peas" under the window. 
Nobody noticed the contradiction, and I understood that obser- 
vations of this kind were not meant to be tested. Talking of 
the atmosphere and the weather, I may mention that the French 
are fond of insisting, from report, on the cold comfortless cli- 
mate of England. There is no people, however, that oftener 
complains of heat. During a tolerable summer, the whole po- 
pulation seems to be in. a state of fever, and employs itself in 
little else than drinking Seltzer- water. The violent £meute of 
June was attributed to the heat of the weather. There are 
political dog-days in France, in which, as small statesmen have 
it, the people require to be muzzled. On the slightest rise in 
the thermometer, grave men, young and old, begin to talk dis- 
mally. They fancy that the whole surface of the country will 
be burned up, and predict unimaginable disasters. 

It is at the afternoon meetings I have mentioned that polit- 
ical and private scandal circulates. The Due d'H ■, on the 

day of the Emperor's marriage, reached a place in his carriage 
where he was compelled to alight and continue his journey on 
foot. He could not forbear exclaiming, " What an esbrouffe 
they make about their Emperor ! " He was arrested, and kept in 
prison several days. The matter had no other consequence, 
except that, for some weeks in the salons, very learned etymo- 
logical discussions were carried on as to the meaning of the 
word esbrouffe. We youths, who have heard the French lan- 
guage spouting fresh and free from the lips of gay grisettes, 
were quite familiar with the word. " What an esbrouffe you 
make about nothing!" said Cselina to her lover, when lie 
found her walking arm-in-arm with a flaxen-haired Englishman 



356 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

in the shady paths of the forest of St. Germain. This esbroufe 
ended in a rupture. The word means simply " bother." "Where 
the Duke got it, I don't know. 

Somebody was repeating Fialin's observation, that it would 
have been better for the Emperor to have married some poor 
French girl than a Spanish grandessa. A devout Bonapartist 
replied, " Sir, you are maintaining a paradox." A police agent 
was at hand, and instantly arrested him. It is no more lawful 
to insinuate that his Majesty is a ' paradox,' than to call him 
by any other of those absurd nicknames which have been in- 
vented for popular use. 

The scandalous stories circulated about the Court, by 
Frenchmen who expected to have the privileges of liberty in a 
state of slavery, caused many persons to be sent to prison. 
The place of confinement chosen was Mazas. Some of my 
friends who went to see them described with grim humour the 
scene. They were admitted into what is called the Gallery of 
Monkeys. The prisoners are kept au secret, as it is called. 
They are allowed to receive visits only on one day of the week. 
The stranger is admitted into a little cupboard, about a foot 
deep. Here he sits on a narrow board, which is let down from 
the door close behind him. A double grating, some feet apart, 
allows him dimly to see the prisoner. An interview, under 
such circumstances, is scarcely agreeable to either party. Peo- 
ple feel that some hidden person is listening, and can only 
communicate by allusion and inuendo. The prisoners say 
that the seclusion in which they are kept — of course, before 
condemnation — for France is a country in which, after sixty 
years of revolution, no Habeas Corpus Act has been thought 
of; where a man, even before all law was abolished, practically 
could be kept three, six months, or even a year, in prison, under 
threat of a trial, and under the solitary system, as if he had 
been found guilty, — the prisoners, I say, relate, that to be trans- 
ferred thus from the bustle of society to a silent cell is a most 



FRENCH HOMES. 357 

poignant torture. Some of them confess they would almost 
prefer the lot of those political victims, who, in order to degrade 
them, the Government purposely puts with the common thieves. 
The inconvenience of this is, however, that they may be met in 
the street at a future time by some shabby-looking individual, 
who reminds them that he has had the honour to pass so many 
days or weeks in their company at Mazas. 

However, there are thousands of topics which might be 
touched on in a description of Parisian life that I must necessa- 
rily omit. The multitude of them that presses on my memory 
now, necessarily renders this chapter rather desultory. What I 
desire especially to show is that, with the exceptions that must 
naturally occur, from moral causes the French have not created 
that beautiful thing called Home. It is common, I believe, to 
remark on this fact in a way which implies their inability to in- 
vent what may be called the machinery of comfort ; but, in 
truth, this inability does not exist. When a French family is 
really bound together by affection, nothing can surpass the 
pleasure that may be felt around its hearth. As a rule, how- 
ever, a house is nothing but a rendezvous, where husband, wife, 
and children meet at stated times, and treat one another with 
civil indifference. 



CHAPTEE XX V. 

The Bourgeois— His Settling in Life — Paradise of "Women— Female Government — 
Flower Presents— A French Kitchen— The Pot-au-feu— A Eeceipt— Soupe aux 
Choux— Kitchen Furniture— Analysis of a-Quartier— Clothes'-Shops — Tradesmen's 
Trickery— Fine Names and Semblances— Suspicious Matters — Second-hand Eat- 
ing-houses—Commissioners of Analysis — Merchants of the Four Seasons— Fried 
Potatoes— Bad Furniture — Instances— Economy of a French Family— The tonne 
— Treatment of Servants — Aristocrats and Artistes — Paris Hospitals— Household 
Work — "Washing — Wood and Coal-dealers — Shopping — Mariette and Mr. Yellow 
— Selling Hair— A Young Heart— Conjugal fidelity— Dress of the Bourgeois — 
Theatres— Free Admissions— Theatrical Critics— The Claque— The Queue— Mo- 
ralising Influence of the Theatre— Stolen Jokes— The Moral Bourgeois— Contrast 
between his Taste and that of the Working Classes. 

There is no name more commonly used, when France is spoken 
of, than that of Bourgeois. I have already explained, that the 
upper bourgeoisie of Paris form a class pretty nearly corre- 
sponding to what we should emphatically designate as City men 
— merchants, stockbrokers, bankers, large manufacturers, &c. ; 
whilst the real bourgeoisie is the whole body of persons that 
cannot be called artizans or labourers — the middle classes, in 
fact. Generally speaking, literary men, artists, and other pro- 
fessionals, are excluded and ranked apart ; in which case there 
remains a vast mass of individuals, five-sixths of whom are, per- 
haps, both intellectually and morally, the most dreary set on 
the face of the earth. 

Taken as a character, a type, the Parisian bourgeois is an 
amusing object of study. He rarely reaches his perfection un- 
til after forty years of age, when, in the position of the master 



THE MARRYING MAN. 359 

of an establishment and the head of a family, he can raise his 
head proudly and show that he is conscious of being one of the 
first citizens of the first country in the world. He is essentially 
a marrying man, because he wants assistance at his desk or 
counter. I have already related how he chooses his wife, and 
hinted under what conditions he passes the early portion of his 
existence. At a tolerably mature age, having worked off the 
little sentiment that Nature has given him, and forgotten the 
instruction acquired at college in his youth, he fixes his eyes 
upon some maiden fresh from convent or boarding-school — at 
whose elbow, perhaps, a romantic cousin or dashing young sol- 
dier may be sighing — and easily prevails. He makes up his 
mind beforehand to have two, or, at most, three children ; it 
being considered very unthrifty in France to have more. 'None 
but Englishmen, they say, are guilty of the absurdity of six or 
seven. 

Paris has been said to be the hell of horses, the purgatory 
of husbands, and the paradise of women. In truth, female 
government is pushed to a great extent in a bourgeois family. 
Men have gravely asked me if the position of women in Eng- 
land does not border on slavery ; because they have heard that, 
whilst the wife is not supreme, she at the same time stays a 
great deal at home. In France, the empire is established in 
the honeymoon by a young wife over a somewhat faded hus- 
band ; but the cause of its continuance is the natural indolence 
of the male sex. Sterne's description of the glove-lady is still 
in some sort correct. Men in business scarcely ever venture on 
any great operation without consulting their wives or their mis- 
tresses ; and, as I have said, in humble life the women almost 
always keep the books. A husband has generally nothing to 
do with the details of household affairs ; he never buys linen, 
plate, or furniture, much less provisions. The man would be 
eternally ridiculous who should think of bringing home " a bit 
of fish " for dinner. He is supposed not to know the price of 



360 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

any article of first necessity. In genteel society, he scarcely 
ever is aware who his wife has invited to dinner until he sees 
his guests. The lady of the house overlooks everything — even 
the dress of her husband ; she buys his shirts, his cravats, his 
gloves : her taste presides over all ; and so much the better. I 
think, if we were to allow our ladies to dress us as they please, 
we should soon cease to be so ridiculously unlike every other 
nation in appearance that every other nation appears ridiculous 
to us. We might, also, learn some other pleasant things. For 
example, the habit which couples, young and old — those who 
are indifferent, obey custom, — have, of bringing occasionally, 
one to the other, a bouquet of flowers, merely as a polite atten- 
tion, to testify that the stay-at-home has been thought of by the 
absent. In England, I observe that a lady displays to her hus- 
band a pretty lace shawl she has bought for herself ; and he 
draws her attention to the capital box of cigars he has bought 
for himself. 

I have already said something about the construction of 
French houses — principally referring, however, to bachelors' es- 
tablishments. Families, except in a very few instances, live 
also in apartments, occupying a whole floor, or only a part, 
with a small kitchen attached. This last circumstance must 
seem the oddest of all to the untravelled. But a French 
kitchen is as unlike an English as any two things bearing the 
same name can be one to another. All cooking is done by 
means of charcoal lighted in round or square holes, with a grat- 
ing at bottom, let into what may be called a broad shelf of 
brickwork, generally occupying a recess. Above, the chimney 
spreads wide to catch the smoke. On one of the holes is placed 
the earthenware marmite — the invariable pot-au-feu, which 
appears to be inimitable in England. It is a soup made of 
beef, with sometimes a calf's foot ; the objection to which is, 
that it makes the liquor too white : sometimes pieces of fowl, 
or other poultry. The meat is put in cold water at about ten 



RECEIPT FOR SOUP. 361 

in the morning, if there be three or four pounds, and the soup 
is not ready before five in the evening. It must simmer all the 
time. At about two or three, the vegetables — carrotg., turnips, 
a bunch of leeks, and a small bit of garlic, with fragrant herbs 
and a burnt onion — are put in. The whole, of course, is care- 
fully skimmed. When ready, a loaf, with a brittle crust, called 
a, flute, from its elongated shape, is cut up in the tureen ; the 
broth is poured on, allowed to soak a moment, and then served 
up. The beef, despite M. Brillat Savarin's complaints that the 
osmazome is gone, must still be nourishing ; and is not at all 
disagreeable to eat with pickled gherkins. This is almost the 
only good family dish the French know ; except, perhaps, soupe 
aux choux, made with bacon or ham, and sausages, with cab- 
bages, potatoes, and other vegetables. I should observe, that 
soup in small families is made about twice a-week, there being 
always enough liquor left to serve for a day or two more. In cool 
weather the bouillon keeps well. It is generally taken down 
into the cave, or cellar, one section of which is set aside for the 
use of each lodger. 

If we except the place taken up by the cooking-stove, as 
the whole apparatus is called, there is merely required in the 
kitchen, room for a fountain, or filter, with two cocks, replen- 
ished every day with water at two sous a-pail, for a small table, 
and perhaps a chair. The cook occupies the rest of the space ; 
and there is no danger of her hiding followers away. Around 
are ranged the casseroles and other necessary utensils, either 
hanging on hooks against the wall, or on shelves. The cook 
who, in all small families, is housemaid and lady's-maid as well, 
generally makes her purchases, when economical, at the nearest 
market ; when not at the shops of the neighbouring tradesmen 
— in her own quarter, as the expression is. A quarter, in this 
sense, is some dozen houses, with great courtyards, perhaps, ac- 
commodating occasionally as many as thirty families. The 
street-fronts are supplied with shops. In my " quarter " there 
17 



362 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

was, first, a cabaret ; then a hairdresser ; then a washerwoman ; 
then a charcutier, or dealer in pigmeat under every variety of 
shape, and other articles of food besides ; then a tailor ; then a 
pastry-cook; then a grocer; then a milliner; then a cremerie. Op- 
posite were a staysmaker ; a tobacconist ; a hardware merchant ; 
an apothecary ; a Compagnie Hollandaise, or inferior eating- 
house; amagasinde comestibles on a small scale; a green-gro- 
cery ; a watchmaker ; a shoemaker ; and a cafe restaurant. In the - 
houses above and behind those shops I have calculated that at 
the very least four hundred people dwelt, retired bourgeois, pro- 
fessional men, students, nondescripts, and workmen, nearly all 
with their wives, mistresses, or families and servants. They 
formed almost a world within themselves, and it was scarcely 
necessary for them to leave that section of a street to supply 
their necessities. Bakers and butchers, however, were at a lit- 
tle distance, these trades being subject to a kind of monopoly. 

I have already mentioned that almost all articles of dress 
are bought at vast marts, well known by name to the consumer. 
Their number is comparatively few. They are worth visiting. 
A crowd of shop-boys and shop-girls meets you with bows and 
smiles at the entrance ; and you are generally compelled to as- 
cend a certain number of flights of stairs, and to pass through 
a variety of showrooms, before you reach the place containing 
the article you want. These shops are proverbial for low trick- 
ery ; and though there is much talk of tradesmen's dishonesty 
in England, I think there is even less dependence to be placed 
on the probity of the small bourgeois of Paris. As to the up- 
per bourgeoisie, in France as in most other countries, trade is 
so mixed up with gambling, that it is not surprising to find the 
moral sense extremely blunted among them. A Levantine 
shopkeeper once told me, that " it was lawful for a seller to take 
the tarboosh off the head of his customer if he could do it with- 
out being observed." I am afraid that this was but a frank 
exposition of the art of money-making all over the world. 



SUSPICIOUS FOOD. 363 

In Paris, people seem to insist on being deceived by fine 
names and semblances. Pots for conserves are portentously 
thick ; so are all coffee-cups ; and no one ever thinks of com- 
plaining. Provided an article be cheap, moreover, no matter 
how nasty it is. Lemonade is manufactured of sulphuric acid ; 
wine, of anything but the juice of the grape ; vinegar, of pyro- 
ligneous acid : there is a manufactory of sauce piquante at Belle- 
ville, of which strange things are whispered. Nobody knows 
of what chocolate is composed ; everybody knows too well that 
the croutons sold to put in soup are the leavings of the restau- 
rant's table. I may as well mention, that in Paris there are not 
only second-hand book-shops, but second-hand eating-houses, 
where the fragments left at more expensive places, collected and 
tastily arranged, are sold to economical amateurs. 

There is a Commission instituted in Paris, however, for ana- 
lysing all suspicious articles of food, &c. It is composed half 
of members of the Institute, half of persons named by the city. 
Its reports are printed but not published. The proceedings are 
carried on at very little expense. An extraordinary variety of 
substances is sent to it for analysis ; as, composition candles sup- 
posed to contain arsenic, painted sweetmeats, coffee accused of 
being mixed with beans. The most remarkable thing is, that 
the public, whom it concerns, should know of its existence. No 
advancement or notice of it, that I am aware, has ever appear- 
ed. The fact passes from mouth to mouth among people sus- 
picious of poison. There is no machinery connected with it. 
Might we not take a hint from this in England ? I believe that 
already a somewhat similiar commission exists, charged with 
the duty of inspecting all articles sold in druggists' shops. 

It used to be calculated that there were thirty thousand 
people in Paris who gained their living by selling in the streets, 
and were called " Merchants of the Four Seasons." The num- 
ber must greatly have diminished now, Louis Napoleon having 
made war upon the costermongers to please the shopkeepers. 



364 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

Just before the coup d'e'tat, indeed, they were so severely treat- 
ed that many were driven into the country, or compelled to 
take shops. Lately the severity has slightly relaxed. One of 
the most flourishing of the minor trades of Paris is that in fried 
potatoes, invented some twenty- five years ago by a man who 
made his fortune. How many a poor student, having found a 
sou in the corner of an old waistcoat, has gone forth and pur- 
chased a meal, sufficient not only to keep off starvation, but to 
enable him to face next day with a tolerably cheerful counte- 
nance ! Unless tricks are played with the grease, this food is at 
any rate pure. 

It is not, however, in food alone that the public are in dan- 
ger of deception, or, rather, of being led away by their love of 
magniloquence, fighting with their economical propensities. 
Brilliantly-colored silks are sold to you at an astonishingly low 
figure, but they are as thin as onion peel ; cotton is mixed with 
everything that is warranted pure wool or linen. In sofas, straw, 
hay, and tow are concealed under a thin covering of horse-hair ; 
some of the handsomest articles of furniture exhibited for sale 
in the fashionable warehouses prove, on examination, to be ma- 
hogany veneered over worm-eaten deal. This explains a good 
deal of the apparent cheapness of French articles. Few are 
solid or genuine. These remarks have been made before ; but 
I would not repeat them if I had not, in most cases, been con- 
vinced of their truth by personal experience. When I bought 
the commode of which I have already spoken, I was not aware 
that the corner of the 7)iarble-s\ab was a piece of wood inge- 
niously glued on ; the chairs I procured at the same time were 
filled with scarce-dried hay, that soon rotted ; and when the 
varnish had been a little rubbed off it appeared that every leg 
had been patched. I bought them cheap, it is true — seven 
francs a-piece ; and sold them back for two francs. By an ac- 
cident I afterwards learned that, having been once more artisti- 
cally patched, they left the same dealer's shop as " almost new " 



BAD FURNITURE. 3&5 

— the description given to me — for six francs and a-half a-piece. 
They will no doubt come back to him again in the course of a 
month or so. There is no knowing what number of times 
they have returned to port in this way to refit. I believe it 
will be found, that even articles perfectly new are much less 
solid than they seem. The fronts of bedsteads look immove- 
able as towers ; but the fond sangU, or moveable frame, 
with cross-bands to support the sommier or the mattress, is 
mostly of bad deal, ill-joined. It is scarcely necessary to add, 
that, as far as form goes, though great emulation is alive in 
England, the Parisians still distance us in almost everything. 
They would make a poker, if they used such weapons, a work 
of art. In the arrangement of colours, too, they are unrivalled, 
except in picture-painting, where, singularly enough, most of 
them, forsaking nature, which they could imitate if they chosf , 
use a fanatastic pallet, giving us brick-coloured men and flesh- 
coloured skies. 

To return, however, to the economy of a French family. 
The bonne, or servant, has generally a hard time of it. In most 
houses you will find that she has been originally imported from 
the country, often from Lorraine, on miserably small wages, at 
a very early age. When she has acquired some experience, 
she, of course, seeks a better place. Servants in France always 
complain of being half-starved ; but they may sometimes mean 
that they have not all the nice things they would like. They 
are treated by half-educated people in a stern, cold, haughty 
manner. The law r s have taken little care of them. A week's 
notice is sufficient ; and, in case of dispute, the master's word is 
almost always unhesitatingly taken. There are certainly many 
fine democratic features in French society ; but the treatment 
of servants, and the general tendency of the laws to take part 
with the strong against the weak, the employer against the 
employed, must be pointed out as a great blot. From what I 
have seen, I should say that the kindest persons in manner to 



366 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

their inferiors are the descendants of the old aristocracy ; and 
though this good feature may express a belief in their own im- 
measurable excellence, which calls for an affectation of semi- 
angelic gentleness, we must give credit where credit is due. 
The same amenity, based on a much finer principle — that of 
charity and disregard of worldly distinctions — may be noticed 
in the best portion of the professional classes, especially the 
literary men and the artists. I question whether, even in 
America, the just medium between authority and familiarity 
has been better struck. I have never observed in France the 
use of that tone, half of condescension, half of baater, a mixture 
of good will and contempt, with which fashionable young men 
in England speak to "fellows" of the lower orders who may 
strike their fancy, and whom they pat on the back as they 
might a dog or a horse. 

Generally speaking, in bourgeois families, when a servant 
becomes ill she is sent to the hospital, ^and discharged with a 
week's rent, to take the place, perhaps, of a poor wretch who 
cannot obtain admission. The Paris hospitals are very fine, 
and well managed ; but still there is a natural repugnance, even 
in the poorest, to go to them. The public are allowed to enter 
only twice a-week to see their friends — on Sundays and Thurs- 
days. Everybody is searched on entering, lest they should in- 
troduce improper food, it being a vulgar error that sick people 
are systematically starved, and that whoever can eat must be 
in good health. Biscuits and oranges may be taken in : they 
are sold at the doors. There is one entrance where men are 
searched, and another for women. In spite of every precaution, 
however, the women often succeed in smuggling in some rub- 
bish, and afterwards boast that they have saved a patient's life. 
The Great Hospital of Incurables is filled by persons whose 
chief disease seems to be poverty. Mad people find comfort- 
able homes at Bicetre and Charenton. A great proportion of 
the floating population of the Salpetriere consists of unfortunate 



THE FRENCH BONNE. 367 

women ; but the statistics of insanity tell us, that in France 
ambition and love of systems are among the most fertile causes 
of the disease. 

There is a good deal of difference in the household work re- 
quired of servants in France and in England. In France there 
is no washing-day. No bonne would remain an hour if required 
to get up anything more than her mistress's trumpery {chif- 
fons). Coarse linen is fetched by washerwomen from the 
country every ten days : fine linen is sent to those elegant 
shops, round the windows of which young men may be seen 
constantly hanging ; or to girls who live in their own lodgings, 
and have a small "circle of customers, one of whom generally 
becomes a lover. Bachelors are obliged to pay six sous for 
their shirts ; but the good creatures who fetch them undertake, 
in return for a little civility, to sew on buttons, and otherwise 
ply the needle. If they did not, we should all very soon be 
worse than the Pict, victim of Vortigern. Housewives are a 
little more exacting, and, consequently, less popular. If a 
bachelor adds a handsome new-year's gift to his thanks, he is 
sure to be invited in the spring to the Washerwomen's Ball ; 
for every year, on the festival of the patron saint of these ladies, 
mighty rejoicings take place amongst them. They go to 
church, elect a queen, who chooses a king, and the dancing 
continues until morning summons them to work. Sometimes 
the queen pitched upon is young and pretty, but although the 
ballot of the bean is resorted to, matters are generally so ar- 
ranged that the lady is selected who can afford to treat her 
companions to a mighty quantity of wine. 

In some houses, where water is laid on, the bonne may 
frequently be met lugging a pail upstairs ; but, generally, water 
is bought either at the wandering water-carrier's, or at the shop 
of the Auvergnat, who supplies you with wood, coal, and char- 
coal, and combustible balls, in small parcels, making thereon a 
wonderful profit. There are no door-steps to scour in France, 



368 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

no deal boards to wash, no carpets to shake. Men do all the 
corresponding work, as cleaning windows, waxing the floor, &c. 
On the other hand, few tradesmen, comparatively, send round 
to their customers to ask if " any thing is wanted ; " so that 
almost every morning off goes the bonm on a marketing and 
gossiping expedition with a basket, " the handle of which she 
causes to dance," as the phrase is : meaning, I am told, that 
she makes a profit out of every thing she buys. I have known 
a case, however, in which a mistress having got into her head 
that butter was sixteen instead of seventeen sous a-pound, the 
maid was obliged to comply with her fancy, and charge sixteen 
instead of fourteen sous for the meat ; " which," as she said, 
" was rather a gain than a loss to her." 

Poor Mariette ! Whenever she saw me she invariably 
asked if I knew the English address of a Monsieur Jaune — I 
presume, Jones — -who had trifled with her, borrowed two hun- 
dred francs of her money, and then disappeared. Ah ! Mr. 
Yellow, know that I am commissioned by the deserted Mariette, 
if I ever meet you in society, to say before every one that you 
pretended to be a gentleman, and robbed a poor servant-girl of 
three years' savings. "We always trust Englishmen," said she, 
naively ; " for when they promise a thing they do it." This 
unfortunate Mariette had met with more rogues than one. A 
man once persuaded her, when she was very poor, to sell her 
hair for five francs a-pound, assuring her that she had a Napo- 
leon's worth on her head. When it was cut off, however, and 
weighed, there were only fifty sous' worth. " It never came 
again," quoth she, taking off a thing like a wisp of straw from 
the top of her head. The trade in female hair was once con- 
fined to Normandy, Brittany, and Auvergne ; but commercial 
travellers now push into the south of France. The statistics 
given of the trade are amazing. It is said that two hundred 
thousand pounds weight are bought in the provinces every year 
at five francs, and resold to Parisian hairdressers at ten francs. 



MARIETTE. 369 

But there must be some mistake. Few heads grow more than 
a pound of hair. Ladies tell me that a good " tail " takes many- 
years to grow ; so that half the female population of France 
ought to be cropped : whereas, even in the poor provinces, the 
majority of girls have most divine chignons. 

However, I must not relate all the tribulations of poor 
Mariette, who has lost an eye and a good many other things in 
her way through the world, all by the fault of les hommes ; 
and yet who is still hoping at length to find some young, hand- ■ 
some, romantic fellow, who will take a fancy to her in spite of 
her story, which she is determined, like an honest girl that she 
is, to tell, in all its details, from the loss of her hair to the fatal 
meeting with Monsieur Jaune. ''•Bast!' 1 ' 1 says she, snapping 
her fingers ; " I am worth something yet. Oroquemort (nickname 
for undertaker) has not called for me ; and when a woman 
has her heart left, what matters the rest ? " What matters it, in- 
deed, Mariette, if the world would only think so ? 

The Bourgeois never inquire into all these matters unless the 
honne is very young and pretty ; in which case they say he is 
usually as inquisitive as could be wished. How often does he 
split upon that rock ! How often is Madame supplied with an 
everlasting topic of recrimination ! The Bourgeois, by the way, 
is very punctilious on the point of conjugal fidelity ; he is rarely 
sufficient of a gentleman to pass over matters slightly ; his 
anger is terrible on discovery. Yet no man is so fond of jokes 
upon unfortunate husbands. The Theatre of the Palais Royal 
supplies him with an unfailing succession of new ones ; and 
that theatre is his delight. The Bourgeoise affects, of course, 
.to be shocked, and looks mysteriously over her shoulder into a 
neighbouring box. I must mention that the really respectable 
Bourgeois — the " fine flower " of the class, turns up his shirt- 
collar like an Englishman, and shaves his chin — his whole face, 
in fact, except a bunch in advance of each ear. In this plight 
— to which men reduce themselves on the same principle that 
17* 



370 PURPLE. TINTS OF PARIS. 

they crop the hind-quarters of poodles — this respectable charac- 
ter may be seen at the theatre, dozing sometimes, but always 
waking up to understand and applaud any joke that refers to 
the state in which every one but himself knows him to be. 

The question which has lately attracted so much attention 
m England — I mean that with reference to free admission to 
theatres, has not yet been raised in Paris. The press, however, 
has not been allowed to abuse its privilege in the minor theatres 
of the Boulevards, which, in most seasons, are tolerably well 
filled. Still, no true Parisian pays for a place, if by any means, 
direct or indirect, he can establish a connexion with a manager 
or actor. 

The press has naturally a great influence on the success of a 
piece, and the theatrical critic is often a feuilletonist, who has 
absolute control over his department of the paper. In this case 
it is known that he sells his good word for a price. I was once 
offered a review of a book of mine for so much — the amount 
to be debated, as if I had been buying a horse. Sometimes 
the publisher of the paper exacts a subscription of a certain 
number of copies ; but these little perquisites are generally left 
to the literary man, who also has the disposal of a box, and re- 
ceives presents at New-year's day. An actress, who inspires a 
tender sentiment in an editor, considers that she has made her 
fortune. 

The claque at a theatre, we English can scarcely understand. 
It answers, however, to the audacious puffs of new works 
which used to be inserted by some fashionable publishers in 
the morning papers with the word " Advertisement " affixed — 
useless warning to those who will be caught. The claque is a 
system of paid applause. It consists in a number of individu- 
als, led by one hard-handed fellow, who occupy the front seats 
of the pit and clap at the appointed time. Everybody knows 
the mercenary nature of this applause. The Turks pay people 
to dance for them, and we make fun thereof : the French pay 



THE THEATRES. 3*71 

people to applaud for them. Not long ago there was a grand 
funeral of a man, who had for so many years taken the lead in 
the claque at the Theatre Francais, that he had become quite a 
celebrated character. 

Amusing scenes sometimes occur at the doors of theatres 
when some favourite piece is played. The public begin to col- 
lect, hours before the doors are opened, and arrange themselves 
in what is called a " tail," sometimes between wooden barriers 
set up for the purpose, or else along the pavement. Every man 
acquires the right of property in his place, and there is seldom 
any shoving. People often sell their posts, and some fellows 
actually gain their living by going and occupying a good place, 
and disposing of it, just before the doors open, to some eager 
amateur. 

The French are fond of saying that the theatre has a mo- 
ralising influence — a great mistake, except that it is always 
good to relieve the dullness of life by cheerfulness. The rays 
of happiness are smiles. In truth, most people are amused at 
theatres because they are willing to be so. It is astonishing 
with what slender straws the pnblic will allow itself to be tickled. 
The wonder is that it does not get callous. I suppose, that if 
it is in the nature of jokers to steal, it is in the nature of the 
world to get habituated to laugh at the same jokes. Probably 
new combinations of ideas, in the shape of wit, are only appre- 
ciated by the finer sort, who set the fashion to duller natures. 
Grimace and antic are the only things which all appetites can 
relish. They are the bread and cheese of the stage. Laughter 
attends upon them like a shadow. The generality of French 
dramatic pieces are extremely slight. They glide over the sur- 
face of surfaces, scarcely scratching the ground. The observa- 
tions interspersed have no depths, no roots scarcely ; and, though 
fresh and lively to the eye, are never worth plucking up ; yet 
it seems they are thought worth transplanting to this soil. The 
fact is, in no country is there much to learn from the stage, ex- 
cept the manners of the stage itself. Actors are the most an- 



372 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

philosophical of men. With rare exceptions, they imitate only 
the gestures they behold ; but not being capable of appreciating 
the passion in which these gestures took their rise, almost in- 
. variably caricature. It is, therefore, under a false pretence that 
the Government is induced in France to keep open most of the 
theatres by paying heavy subsidies. Amusement is a 'good 
thing, a wholesome thing ; and if the State undertake to pro- 
vide it, well and good. But to confound the stage with a chair 
of moral philosophy is absurd. The French are very fond of 
talking about morality. The most dissolute Bourgeois shrinks 
at times primly between his shirt collar, saying, " JPai des 
moeurs ; but the pieces he and the public generally delight in 
either have no effect at all — probably the truth — or tend to de- 
stroy those things worth preserving, respect for marriage, respect 
for parents, and respect for reality. 

However, I should be the last to propose shutting up the 
theatre in any country, because I think they are the signs, not 
the creators of the state of morality. They ought to be free, 
moreover ; amenable only to public opinion and the laws, just 
as books are. We should then hear no more of penny theatres 
demoralising juvenile audiences. It is worthy of remark, that 
in France the dramatic pieces that please the refined public are 
almost all, more or less, of equivocal morality ; whilst at the 
Boulevard theatre, where the ouvrier and the gamin go, although 
there is a good deal of horror, the sympathies of the audience are 
always on the side of oppressed virtue. An adulteress must be 
very winning, indeed, if she find favour there : whereas the 
bourgeoisie, the depositaries of public opinion, the Frenchmen par 
excellence, care for no piece in which two or three of the natural 
sentiments of mankind are not made light of. The ouvrier 
weeps over the beautiful maiden about to be led to death — for 
love's sake or for chastity ; whilst the bourgeois who has 
strayed that way sniggers, and admires the fine limbs of Made- 
moiselle Chose, whom he always distinctly sees before him, 
despite her poetical adornments. 



CHAPTER XXVI.- 

The French Army— Piou-piou— Military Character of the Population— the discharg- 
ed Soldier— A Chasseur dAfrique— Corsican Soldiers— M. Baudot— Forced Re- . 
cruitment— Invalid Young Men— Military Height— The Pillar of Order— The 
National Guard— The Garde Mobile— M. Lamartine — The Affair of June— M. 
Paul deMolenes— A ferocious Legitimist— How to judge of a Party— the Legiti- 
mists—Foreign Troops— The White Terror— 1815— Vive le Eoi— Massacre at 
Marseilles— The Mamelukes— Marshal Brune— Protestants at Nimes— A French 
Judge Jeffreys— Eeligious Persecution— The Authorities— Committee of Massacre 
— General Eamel— Royalist Ladies— Marshal Ney— 1816— Rising at Grenoble — 
Specimens of Royalist Style— Colonel Vautre— Royal Mercy— Murder and Tor- 
ture—General Mouton— Sheep's Liver— Burlesque Affair at Orleans — Flaw in the 
French Character— Chances of a Restoration— The Orleanist Absurdity— Feeling 
of the Country — Origin of Bonapartism — Napoleonic Myth — Faults of all Parties 
— A Democratic Emperor. 

In the present volume my object is rather to describe some 
features of what ma\ be called cultivated France — the France 
that boasts itself superior to all other nations in Christendom — 
than to make an elaborate analysis of the elements of society. 
It is not necessary to say anything of the Army, except in so 
far as it becomes an instrument in the coup d'etat. True, the 
military profession now takes precedence of all others; and 
both officers and soldiers show by their manners how well 
aware they are that they are the masters of the country. 
From what I have observed, it seems that in proportion as the 
power of the military has risen, the affection for them amongst 
the people has diminished. Formerly, a piou-piou — as the 
common soldier was somewhat contemptuously called — was 
treated wherever he went with a sort of paternal solicitude. 



374 



PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 



He is now looked upon — unless rumours of wars Lave made 
him interesting — rather with suspicion than otherwise. For 
some time after the coup d'etat, indeed, many who disapproved 
of that insurrection of authority ceased to have communication 
even with relatives who belonged to the army ; and I believe 
that the regiments present in France on those fatal days are still 
tabooed in many circles. The French, however, are not usually 
obstinate in dislikes of this kind, and at critical times I have 
seen them greet the army with a ludicrous mixture of fear 
and affection. 

A fact that must be borne in mind, if we would understand 
what takes place in France, is, that in every twenty years at 
least a million and a half of men are restored from the army 
to the plough or other occupations, for the most part tainted 
with laziness and licentiousness. I quote the following ac- 
count from a French writer, rather an optimist than otherwise, 
who published under the reign of Louis Philippe. 

" Look," says M. Alletz, " at the soldier just freed from ser- 
vice. He spends before his departure, in some coarse pleasures, 
the money which he has received from home to enable him to 
return. Reduced to pawn a portion of his garments to supply 
the deficiency thus created, he reaches his native place half- 
naked, drooping with fatigue and hunger. In a few days is 
exhausted the natural joy he feels at finding himself among his 
friends again. Accustomed to the excitement of danger, if he 
have been in the field, or to the vagabond indolence which he 
leads in great cities during a long peace, he soon feels a heavy 
and a brutal ennui. Everything is strange and monotonous to 
him ; the tranquillity of the country contrasts with his old 
habits ; the uniformity of life which he is compelled to lead 
wearies him, used as he is to perpetual change ; the solitude of 
the village gives no scope to his loquacity ; the necessity of 
work alarms his indolence ; even his newly-acquired liberty 
embarrasses a character broken by discipline ; he misses the 



DESTRUCTIVE PROPENSITIES. 3*75 

public places of the cities ; ennui makes him irritable and hard; 
he seeks out old companions of arms and idleness, gets drunk 
with them, quarrels, ruins, or drives his family to despair ; 
shortens, perhaps, the days of his mother; becomes an evil ex- 
ample to youth, excites the indignation of all respectable peo- 
ple, is a cause of affliction and dishonour to his family, and dis- 
turbs the repose of the magistrate. It is a sad thing to say, 
but it is too frequent to find old soldiers among the greatest 
criminals. Louvel, Fieschi, Alibaud, moreover, had been 
soldiers." 

The Frenchman under arms is naturally destructive. Du- 
ring the Revolution and the Empire, churches were turned into 
barracks. The consequence was that all the statues and orna- 
ments were more or less injured. " Not many years ago," says 
M. Merimee, " a chasseur d'Afrique lodged a night with a black- 
smith, who had taken up his abode in the church of La Charite, 
on the Loire. He slept in a place where was a bas-relief sitting 
upon clouds, and surrounded by angels and saints. He was 
tormented by bugs all night, and when he got up in the morn- 
ing saw the bas-relief, and, addressing himself to the Eternal 
Father, said, ' Old fellow, it was you that invented bugs — take 
that.' So he knocked the work of art to pieces." The Corsican 
soldiers are different from the French ; perhaps, because more 
Catholic. When encamped in churches, they do not wantonly 
destroy the frescoes, but cut away little bits for sale. 

M. Raudot, in writing on the state of the French army, says 
that it is recruited nearly entirely by young men, called against 
their will under the flag, or by substitutes bought for money. Until 
lately, nearly every one had considered this mode of recruitment 
admirable. People are imbued with an idea, derived, or rather 
transported arbitrarily, from the classical republics, that every 
citizen ought to be a soldier. M. Raudot explains, from his 
peculiar point of view, the non-adaptability of this idea to our 
modern Christian societies. I prefer quoting the opinions of na- 



3 16 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

tive writers on this point, on which the French are peculiarly 
sensitive. 

" Every year," says the same writer, " about three hundred 
thousand young men reach the age of twenty. Out of this 
number half only — and this is a deplorable but certain fact — 
are fit for military service. Of these, eighty thousand are de- 
clared to be soldiers, and sixty thousand generally are called 
upon to serve. Thus it appears, that in time of peace nearly 
one half of the valid young men in France pass the best years 
of their life in garrison. . . By taking them from their 
families, and devoting them to celibacy and libertinage, whilst 
the invalid portion are left to marry and found new families, a 
constant cause of moral and physical deterioration is created." 
He goes on to say, that the fifty thousand men who generally 
return per annum to civil life, find it difficult to compete with 
the workmen whose education has not been disturbed. They 
generally go and inhabit towns, and, according to him, 
form an army always ready of emeute. In civil war, there- 
fore, it is against old soldiers that the young recruits have 
to fight. 

The mortality among young soldiers is very great. The 
first year it is seven and a-half per cent., that is, greater among 
the elite of the youths than among the whole population, com- 
prising the children and old men. Remarks have often been 
made on the small stature of the French soldiery. The mili- 
tary height is five feet nine inches French. It would be wrong, 
however, to suppose — and history, indeed, forbids us to do so — 
that the armies of our neighbours are, on this account, in- 
efficient. The fact simply explains why French generals have 
seldom gained great victories, except by making their men act 
in masses. Desperate and enthusiastic courage requires personal 
or numerical weight as an adjunct. 

Ever since the establishment of the Imperial Dictatorship, 
all kinds of means have been taken to keep the army in good 



THE FRENCH ARMY. 377 

humour, and, it would appear, successfully. The hired writers 
of the Court, perhaps going beyond their instructions, take every 
opportunity to maintain that the great pillar of order is the 
army. This is certain ; but it might be politic to conceal the 
fact, and not to insist in season and out of season on the entire 
annihilation of all bourgeois influence, and especially on the 
banishment of the pen as a political lever. Mere brute force 
cannot continue long to keep a nation like the French in servi- 
tude ; and it would be wise to endeavour to corrupt literature, 
and induce one man, at any rate, who can unite the art of 
writing with a reputation for honesty, to beguile the weary mo- 
ments of suspense. 

We shall probably hear little more of the National Guard, 
as an instrument either of revolutions or of tyranny. That 
body is virtually dissolved, the middle classes, from amongst 
whom its members were taken, being almost unanimously op- 
posed, on various grounds, to the present form of government. 
The nominal National Guard contains, I believe, about twenty 
thousand men. People are chosen arbitrarily by the authorities, 
and if they refuse to serve are put in prison. As much as pos- 
sible, old soldiers are chosen for officers — old leather-breeches, 
as they are called. There is a great attempt at severity and 
discipline, but the thing does not take. In some quarters symp- 
toms of discontent are so strong, that the National Guards, re- 
duced as they are in numbers and dignity, are no longer called 
upon to act. 

It was common for some time, and still is with a few writers, 
to speak with enthusiasm of the services rendered to the cause 
of order by the Garde Mobile, which is said to have " saved 
society," and so forth. I cannot think much of a cause which 
depended for its defence on a collection of frightful little sava- 
ges like that. The fact is that the affair of June, although it 
seemed to begin from below, was the development of a reac- 
tionary conspiracy, of which General Cavaignac and the Repub- 



378 PURPLE TLNTS OF PARIS. 

lican party were dupes, and which required — at least it was 
then so thought — a collection of all the unbearded ragamuffins, 
raked up from all the kennels of Paris, to cany out, M. Lamar- 
tine is very proud of his idea. He has no reason to be so ; for 
it is quite certain that if, by a mere accident, the Garde Mobile 
had not been seized with a moment of bloody enthusiasm, the 
insurgents would have carried the day. We cannot, of course, 
regret that they did not ; for, although bitterly goaded, many 
of their projects and principles were dangerous. But I ques- 
tion whether their success would have been so disastrous 
as was their defeat. The horrible cruelties committed by the 
victorious party, rather to revenge themselves for the fear they 
had undergone than from deliberate ferocity, created a breach 
between the working classes — who, to a man, sympathised with 
the insurgents — and the bourgeoisie, which has never been 
closed. At the coup d'etat, many ouvriers gave as a reason 
why they abstained from fighting, that they wished to see the 
middle classes treated as the middle classes had treated them ; 
and thus ignorantly left their best friends to be slaughtered, 
whilst their old enemies were hiding at home, and cursing 
" with white lips " both the adversaries and the friends of the 
Constitution. 

M. Paul de Molenes has recently published an account of 
his experiences amongst the rabble rout of beggars and discard- 
ed waiters that were petted and decorated for a few months, 
and then jeered at and dispersed. He does not say how he got 
amongst them. He talks very heroically about war, and pre- 
tends to look upon that institution as most glorious and delight- 
ful. He seems to have snuffed in with delio-ht the smell of 
blood at the approach of June — regrets that he was not sent to 
murder people across the French frontier — but still thinks of 
those fatal days as of a festival. " Those days of June were 
for every one days of summer ; for me they were days of sum- 
mer and youth. Certes I should have preferred this great 



PARTY CHIMES. 379 

mclcc, this festiva] of cannon, tliis orgie of gunpowder, on the 
banks of the Rhine rather than in the midst of* Paris; but still 
I am happy that I was present at those combats. I do not 
think that war is evil, and that chance and violence, that is to 
say, the powers which God supports without his force and his 
just ice, are alone answerable for it. I think that God, on the 
contrary, has reserved it for himself; and, with due deference 
to the philosophical priests who unite with the Reformed Minis- 
ters in congresses, I believe it with the Bible, with the ritual, 
which say — the God of armies." It is scarcely necessary to 
remark that this ferocious gentleman is a Monarchist and a 
Legitimist: and it will surprise no one to learn that, in a sub- 
sequent page of the same volume, he introduces an adulteress 
sitting with her lover in raptures over the Imitation of Christ; 
after which they wander for some hours " in the garden of mur- 
murs and mystical shadows." 

Nothing is more unfair than to judge of a party by the 
crimes of its members. Yet as this has been, and is, the way 
in which the Republican party has been condemned, both in 
France and in England — as that party is still under the weight 
of accusations and reproaches for what it committed sixty years 
ago, in the midst not only of the convulsive agony of a revolu- 
tion but with hostile armies on its frontiers — it may be as well 
to endeavour to give a rapid view of what the, Legitimist party 
did under other circumstances. This time France was, indeed, 
covered by the troops of the enemy ; but they came to assist 
in re-establishing a monarchical government, and to support, 
therefore, the Legitimist party. That party, consequently, had 
not the excuse of danger or terror; but merely obeyed those 
sanguinary instincts which seem to be unaccountably implanted 
in the French character. The ordinary English reading public 
knows a -food deal about what is called the Reign of Terror; 
but very few among them are quite familiar with the details of 
the White Terror, and they are, therefore, unable to appreciate 



380 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

the horror which the name of Bourbon excites in the humble 
classes — cannot understand the allusions which make the demo- 
cracy and the army thrill with terror — and are not aware of 
the existence of one of the greatest auxiliaries of the present 
Government. That Government, it is true, started into exist- 
ence in the midst of blood ; but since its installation, after the 
victory, there have been but few executions. Exile and impris- 
onment have been the principal weapons employed. 

In 1815 — I rely on the statements of M. Vaulabelle, which 
have not been contradicted — the news of the battle of Water- 
loo was received in the south by cries of " Vive le Roi ! " by 
pillage, and by massacres. The Royalist inhabitants of Mar- 
seilles drove out their garrison, and began to sack the houses of 
the Bonapartists, many of whom were massacred. A band of 
ruffians, hired by the Legitimists, proceeded to a poor quarter, 
where was established a colony of Mamelukes and Orientals, 
who had come from Egypt with Napoleon, and began to mas- 
sacre them in cold blood. Those who endeavoured to fly were 
pursued in the streets, and even into the houses where they 
took refuge. Neither age nor sex was spared. Women and 
children were slaughtered for mere sport. An Egyptian woman 
leaped into the water, and tried to escape by swimming to a 
ship. She was shot at in the water, and diea crying " Vive 
Bonaparte ! " The assassins then spread through the streets, 
killing every one who was pointed out as a Bonapartist or a 
Jacobin. It was not until next day that the bourgeoisie, fearing 
the pillage of their houses, took arms, and restored the city to 
comparative quiet. 

These events, however, were the signals of massacre 
throughout the whole of the south of France. Marshal Brune 
was murdered by a furious mob at Avio-non, dragged through 
the streets, and thrown into the river. A corps of volunteers 
was formed in Provence, which marched upon Nimes, got pos- 
session of the town by a capitulation, and massacred the gar- 



RELIGIOUS BIGOTRY. 381 

rision after they had given np their arms. An appeal was 
made to religious bigotry ; the Protestants, who formed more 
than a third of the population, were identified with the Bona- 
partists, and exposed to wholesale pillage and massacre. Then 
became celebrated that name of Trestaillons, which it is suffi- 
cient in France to pronounce to suggest all these horrors. He 
was a kind of self appointed Judge Jeffreys, who went about 
condemning and slaughtering all whom he chose. 

In that part of the country, as I have said, the passions ex- 
cited were rather religious than political. The Catholic mob — 
excited, of course, by the priests — raged to and fro for weeks, 
committing unheard-of atrocities ; whilst the women in the pub- 
lic streets subjected their Calvinistic sisters to indecent and igno- 
minious chastisement. The royal authorities looked on, and 
encouraged rather than blamed these villanous acts ; and in 
order to exhibit their partiality more clearly, almost entirely ex- 
onerated the Catholics from the war contributions, levying 
seven-eighths of the sum required from the department on the 
Protestants and the Jews. Similar scenes to those at ISTimes 
took place at Uzes, where, however, in addition to miscella- 
neous slaughter, six prisoners, accused of Bonapartism, were 
given up by the authorities, two and two, to the chief of the 
massacrers, to be assassinated in the public place. I cannot, 
however, enumerate all the atrocities committed. They con- 
tinued during two whole months, with the knowledge of the 
Government, the Chambers, and the Armies of Occupation ; 
and ceased only by the intervention of an Austrian army and 
the Due d'Angouleme. Such, however, was the fury of the 
Catholics and Royalists, that when this interference was with- 
drawn they began once more to attack the Protestants, when 
they collected in their chapels, and assassinated a general who 
endeavoured to interfere to keep the peace. In fine, the White 
Terror lasted in the department of the Gard for five months, 
duririg which a Committee of Massacre sat in a house at Nimes, 



382 PURPLE TINTS OP PARIS. 

on the front of which, in huge letters, were written these words : 
"The Bourbons or Death." Afterwards, Trestaillons and 
some of his accomplices were arrested and brought to judg- 
ment; but although they admitted their crimes, they were 
unanimously acquitted, and. carried in triumph through the 
city. 

Meanwhile, at Toulouse, General Ramel was attacked in 
the street, and mortally wounded. A workman received him 
into his house, but he was not allowed to die in peace ; for the 
assassins came back some hours afterwards, tore him out of his 
bed, and finished him. At Bordeaux, two twin-brothers, gen- 
eral officers, named Faucher, were juridically assassinated, with 
circumstances of excessive violence and horror. They went to 
the place of execution along streets the balconies of which were 
filled with Royalist ladies, shouting with delight, and waving 
white handkerchiefs. The condemnations of Labedoyere and 
Marshal .Ney are well known. With reference to the latter 
there has been, perhaps, a good deal of misplaced pathos ; but 
still, considering that he was condemned by men who were 
equally guilty of favouring the return of Napoleon from Elba, 
his execution had many of the features of a murder. The part 
played by the representative of England, the general who had 
fought against Ney and beaten him, and who yet insisted on 
his execution, is so painful, that I shall not dwell on it. 

Early in 1816 there was an attempt at rising at Grenoble, 
in the interest of the Orleans party. It was suppressed with- 
out the loss of a single man on the part of the authorities, but 
six of the insurgents were killed. This easy victory was exag- 
gerated by those who gained it into a wonderful triumph ; and 
it is impossible to understand the French character as devel- 
oped in the Royalist party — a party in all countries inclined 
to speak lightly of bloodshed when the humble are the sufferers 
— without reading the accounts published by the chief actors 
in that miserable event. They are too long to transcribe here, 



ATROCIOUS MASSACRES. 383 

but the following phrases are characteristic : — " I dispersed them 
like dust," writes Colonel Vautre. " Three times, however, they 
charged me with the bayonet, crying, ' Vive I 'Empereur ! ' I 
forbade my men to fire ; but ordered them to charge, and cut 
the throats of this canaille with their bayonets, to the cry of 
' Vive le Roi ! ' . . . I went to Lamure, preceded by ter- 
ror. ... I told the people that I was not sure whether I 
should not shoot them all, and burn their town. . . . I said 
to them, ' Your fathers and your children are nearly all dead at 
the gates of Grenoble. Go and look at their corpses. You, 
Mr. President of the Federates' (I had arrested that scoundrel), 
1 one of your sons has been recognised among the dead. The 
other is believed to have been killed. Here, Mr. Brigand, is 
one of my brave officers who has seen his hat and his sword.' 
This," continues the gallant writer, " was the result of our tragi- 
comedy." 

I have already said that six of the insurgents were killed. 
Colonel Vautre, in true Falstaff style, raises their numbers to 
thirty ; and in the official despatch of the general commanding 
the place occurs the following monstrous passage : — " Vive le 
Roi ! my dear General ; for three hours blood has not ceased 
to flow. Vive le Roi ! my dear General ; the corpses of his 
enemies cover all the roads around the town !" When the 
dead came to be counted, these hot royalists were strangely dis- 
appointed ; but they determined to make up by executions. 
Three days afterwards two prisoners were condemned without 
any attempt to bring witnesses against them, and executed ; and 
a little later, thirty persons were brought before a council of 
war, presided over by the very Colonel Vautre whose words I 
have above quoted. Six of the unfortunate men were acquitted, 
because the Court itself admitted that they had no charge to 
bring against them. The others were condemned on the testi- 
mony of four soldiers, who were called up and ordered to iden- 
tify the insurgents as having been among the band that attacked 



384 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

them at night. There were so many presumptions of innocence 
in favour of five of them, that the Council of War recom- 
mended them to royal mercy, as less criminal in intention than 
the others ; and afterwards positive proofs of the innocence of two 
more were brought forward. However, when the report of this 
monstrous trial was sent up to Paris, the king refused to take 
notice either of the recommendation to mercy or of the proofs 
of innocence brought forward, and ordered the whole number 
to be immediately executed. Among them was a lad of sixteen 
who was only wounded at the first discharge, and who got up 
on his hands and feet, looking towards his assassins with im- 
ploring eyes. A second discharge, however, finished him, 
amidst the cries of horror and pity of the spectators. Really, 
after these frightful scenes, the Royalist party refers, with a very 
ill grace, to its sufferings in the last century. 

In the month of May there was a sort of conspiracy got up 
by a police agent named Scheltein. Three men of very humble 
position were accused of distributing cards, bearing a masonic 
triangle and the words " Union, Honour, Country," which was 
taken to be a proof that they were organising a conspiracy. 
They were also accused of listening with approval to a proposal 
made by the police agent to blow up the Tuileries, but not a 
single witness was called to prove this fact. Still the unfortunate 
men were condemned to death. They were taken along the 
quays, walking barefooted in white shirts with a black veil over 
their heads ; and, being brought to the Place de Gr&ve, were 
tortured before being guillotined by having their right hands 
chopped off with a hatchet ! 

It is needless to enumerate, however, all the frightful scenes 
of Royalist vengeance that took place, though we might find in 
some of the circumstances that attended them curious illustra- 
tions of the character and sentiments of a large portion of the 
aristocratic classes in France. For example, after the execution 
of General Mouton Duvernet, some Royalist ladies went and 



MOCK HEROICS. 385 

danced on the place of execution next day ; and a banquet was 
organised to celebrate the event, in which a sheep's liver (foie 
de mouton), in allusion to the name of the General, was served 
up and stabbed by the guests one after the other ! 

A comic accompaniment to these horrible scenes took place 
at Orleans, where a full length portrait of Napoleon, painted by 
Gerard, and an immense number of busts, flags, books, papers, 
engravings, and other objects, were thrown into a huge bonfire, 
not by a mob, but by the National Guard, and under the eyes 
of the Prefect, the President of the Royal Court, and the ma- 
gistrates in their red robes, who joined hands and danced, like 
Macbeth's witches, round the bonfire, singing : " On va leur 
percer le Jlanc, ran tan plan lire lire ! On va leur percer le 
flanc ; ah ! que nous allons rire ! " When the portrait was 
brought forth, an officer cut it open with his sword, and the 
crowd insisted on turning the head down, crying : " Down with 
his head, the scoundrel ! " The Prefect, the President of the 
Royal Court, and the Mayor, carried torches and set fire to the 
pile, crying, " Death to Bonaparte the anthropophagus ; " and 
the National Guards, " electrified," says the account, charged 
the busts and statues with their bayonets. Is it possible for the 
wildest imagination to conceive the Lord Mayor and the Lord 
Chancellor performing such antics to celebrate the overthrow of 
their political opponents? 

I have collected these almost incredible facts, partly as 
counterparts to similar ones commonly repeated in accusation 
against the Republican party. They will show that excesses 
which are attributed by interested persons to the supporters of 
extreme liberal opinions are really derived from some flaw in 
the French character. It must be admitted, however, that it is 
more astonishing and more disgraceful to find this mixture of 
bloodiness and burlesque in a party which pretends to a mo- 
nopoly of refinement and religion, than in those classes which 
have been brutalised by long years of oppression. I am firmly 
18 



386 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

persuaded that if the Legitimist party were ever to return to 
power — a wild supposition — we should have a repetition of 
these savage and ridiculous scenes. At any rate, this is the 
firm belief of the French ; and those who, by confining their 
observation to a few salons and by reading a disgraceful paper 
or two, are led to suppose that, even in its present abasement, 
France looks towards any member of any branch of the old 
reigning family for assistance, commits a most egregious error. 
The Government of Louis Philippe had blood upon it likewise 
— blood not very sacred in the eyes of the powerful, the witty, 
or the wise — blood of the poor — mere units, whose absence no 
one felt — no one but their wives and their families. We Eng- 
lishmen easily forget these things ; and think it very absurd 
that so convenient an arrangement as an Orleanist Restoration, 
for example, cannot be brought about ; but the French people, 
though it forgives, to a certain extent, the blind instrument of a 
king's cruelty — the army — will never forgive, even if circum- 
stances compel it for a time to submit to once more, either of 
its condemned dynasties. It would appear, too, that in no sec- 
tion of the people is the feeling of mingled abhorrence and 
contempt with which the relics of the Bourbon family are re- 
garded stronger than in the army. 

I believe that this feeling, based partly on tradition, and 
exaggerated, perhaps, by prejudice, has played a much more 
active part in deciding the turn of events than foreigners are 
disposed to admit or to understand. Yet we ought to know 
how greatly the stability of dynasties depends on the estimation 
in which a monarch is held. There existed and still exists, 
moreover, in certain classes of the country, especially among the 
soldiers, a strange kind of thing, much resembling superstition, 
now called Bonapartism. It bears every character, indeed, of 
an unreasoning faith, and was based on a myth ; for the popular 
conception of Napoleon merits no other name. Before the de- 
feat at Waterloo, the educated classes were weary of their Em- 



POLITICAL BONAP ARTISTS. 38*7 

peror ; and, indeed, so were the whole country, even the peas- 
antry to a certain extent, although this sordid mass were 
averse to a Restoration, because they feared to lose the land 
which they had divided amongst themselves. On the return of 
the Bourbons three hundred thousand soldiers were disbanded, 
and the country was covered by men whose enthusiasm for 
their chief was kept alive by persecution. The police used to 
make war on pictures and images of Napoleon, searching every 
veteran they met for these and other relics, Those who could, 
preserve a little portrait stuck it up on their wall, and pointed 
it out to their children, saying : " Voild le Bondieu ! " — so that 
in very ignorant places (no exception in France) Napoleon be- 
came really and truly confounded with the Divinity. Few at- 
tempts were made by the two cousin-dynasties that governed 
the country for about thirty years to enlighten the peasantry, 
which, with a sort of sublime stupidity, worked and waited un- 
til, at the Revolution, by the very fact of their possession of 
land, they became the depositaries of political power, when 
they naturally ranged themselves behind the man who came 
forward as the representative of their God. 

The Bonapartists — for there was, besides, a small political 
party that could be so called — during the times of Constitutional 
government always joined the Republicans in opposition, and 
were too eagerly accepted, because it was thought they might 
act upon the army. The favourite Opposition orators before 
the Revolution of 1830 were Lamarque and Foy — not advo- 
cates, soldiers. Their great appeal was always — " "We shed our 
blood fighting for our country against you (the Royalists), who 
fought against it." After 1830, Louis Philippe leaned for a 
short time on the Republican and Bonapartist parties, on Mar- 
shal Gerard and on Lafayette. General Pajol was named Com- 
mander of Paris ; and Bugeaud, who had been forced to quit 
the army and become clerk to a notary, was made a colonel, 
and put in the way of advancement. Then was re-erected on 



388 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

the Place Vendome the statue which Louis Napoleon has since 
himself called " The Great Elector." He and his courtiers knew 
well the feeling of the peasantry, and counted on that as their 
great fulcrum. The event has proved they were right ; for, after 
all, the coup d 'etat, historically considered, was nothing but 
the victory of the ignorant and enthusiastic country over the 
cultivated but corrupt cities. It is true, that had any of the 
parties that have undertaken to govern France, Royalist or Re- 
publican, possessed any sound political intelligence, they might 
have provided against that disaster. The Republicans are es- 
pecially to blame, because, by a wonderful want of logical pow- 
er, they not only accepted the assistance of the Bonapartists, but 
persuaded themselves, and assisted in persuading the country, 
that there was some connection between the mission of the 
Emperor and the mission of Democracy. Many persons still 
cling to the same delusion ; and I have met some young gen- 
tlemen in England who think they have profited by studying 
the history of our Commonwealth, and seem to imagine that 
whatever overthrows a king or an aristocracy must be worthy 
of admiration, as expressing a democratic idea. They .may 
some of these days be led to erect a Hurricane or a Pestilence 
into a Divinity. ^ 



CHAPTEE XXVII. 

Love of Freedom—Hasty Politicians— Montesquieu and Virtue— Tory Machiavels — 
Principle of a Eepublic — Educating Influence of Monarchies — French Eepubli- 
cans— Waterloo of Liberty— English Opinions— The Socialists— My Credo — A pure 
Despotism— Philosophy of History— Turning of a Handle— Socialist Yiew of 
Napoleon — The Political Economists— Considerant and Larochejaquelin— Uni- 
versal Suffrage — Absurdities of Socialism — The Middle Classes — A Ministerial 
Argument — M Ledru Eollin — The " Hlustrations " — Political Immorality — Men- 
tal Keservation and Expediency — The Circulars — Monarchical Man ccuvres — Their 
Punishment — Influence of the Clergy — Evil everywhere in Politics— The Church 
and the Emperor— A mot of Prince Metternich— Friars— Priests and "Women — 
Abbe Michon— Accusation of Grisettes— A Materialist in the Fields— A strange 
Atheist — The Clergy and the Coup d 'etat. 

The last days of the French Republic will be remembered with 
melancholy by all true lovers of freedom. When I speak of 
freedom, and the love thereof, it is not in any sentimental mood, 
In the early stages of society — when the belief was prevalent 
that a perfect organization might be attained, when man im- 
agined that he could fashion his own Paradise — enthusiasm 
was more excusable than now, that we are obliged to admit 
forms of government to be only more or less excellent means of 
carrying on the public business of a country. Complete hap- 
piness cannot be achieved by any set of regulations whatever ; 
and the highest political wisdom could only lead to a state in 
which all artificial impediments to the development of physical 
and moral well-being should be removed. There would still 
remain the natural causes of misery — our own vices and imper- 
fections : quite enough for us to deal with, in all conscience. 



3 90 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

Many weak persons, wearied by contemplation of the diffi- 
culties that naturally occur at the outset of any great experi- 
ment, are prone, from a kind of impatient indolence, to wish 
and hasten its abandonment and a return to clumsy practice 
sanctioned by time. They have noticed hastily that the French 
have twice failed to form a Republic, and that they are, as a 
nation, deprived of several of the intellectual and moral quali- 
ties necessary to the well- working of free institutions. So the 
cry is raised for a return to tyranny ; and, when the Tyrant is 
found, he is welcomed as a Saviour. The great claim, however, 
which the French have to the enjoyment of liberty is, that their 
best men most ardently desire it ; and this aspiration constantly 
manifesting itself, no matter under what eccentric forms, in the 
midst of a corrupt and jaded society, is a cheerful promise for 
the future, which we should hail and encourage, instead of 
vituperating and spitting upon, as Englishmen are too much 
inclined to do. 

Montesquieu has said an absurd thing, which simple Demo- 
crats and cunning Royalists have grasped at as a weapon; 
namely, that " Virtue is the principle of a Republic. " All we 
ardent believers in the Good Time Coming, complacently adopt- 
ed this epigram when we used to debate the fortunes of States 
— long before we knew how to shape our own fortunes — and 
founded thereon withering sarcasms against corrupt monarchies. 
But we were no match for the Machiavels on the other side, 
who hypocritically admitted the truth of the maxim, and pro- 
ceeded to argue that, as we are all at present a set of rascals, 
why we must put up with the government we have got ! Im- 
pure, hack politicians, go about declaring, in a contrite tone, 
that of course a Republic in theory is admirable ; but what 
materials can you find to construct one ? Then they quote and 
requote Montesquieu; and the pretenders to wisdom, whose 
ideas have been floating about in an obscure twilight, are sud- 
denly illumined, and repeat with parrot intonation, " Virtue is 
necessary in a Republic." 



FRENCH REPUBLICANS. 391 

No such thing. Virtue is necessary in all human communi- 
ties, which otherwise would cease to exist. It abounds in Eng- 
land, and accounts for our prosperity ; may be found in France, 
and explains how" it bears up against all its misfortunes ; and, 
no doubt, maintains a struggling life in Austria and Russia. 
Properly speaking, a Republic has less need of it than any other 
state ; for the more perfect does the machinery of government 
become, the more can individual excellence be dispensed with. 
However, it is quite true, that to allow democratic institutions 
to reach the magnificent development of which they are capable, 
it is necessary that we should be cultivated to the highest ex- 
tent. What I point out as a mere sophism is this, that men 
must attain that extreme cultivation before they are fit to carry 
on their own affairs. If this were the case, well might we des- 
pair of the future ; for under what Monarchy can nations be 
educated for the higher enjoyments of liberty ? 

The French Republicans, whose apology I have no intention 
of writing, will compel history — despite contemporary misun- 
derstandings — to give its verdict in their favour to this extent, 
that they saw, and now see, that their country has nothing 
further to learn in bondage ; and that, from peculiar circum- 
stances, they are deprived of the opportunity of passing, as we 
have, through the ordeal of constitutional monarchy. They 
have no family sufficiently humble and moderate to reign with- 
out governing, and are reduced to the alternative of crouching 
slavery or dangerous freedom. Political writers in England 
are hasty to make a choice for them ; and there is not a Noodle 
in society who refrains from saying that Despotism is the only 
government fit for France. I should be the last to endeavour 
to exculpate that nation for the cowardice with which it threw 
away all its rights, to lighten it in its helter-skelter flight at the 
great Waterloo of Liberty ; and if Louis Napoleon be applaud- 
ed as a Scourge, I have nothing to say. It is not, however, in 
this light that he is regarded by his admirers in our country. 



392 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

They are chiefly grateful to hiin for putting down the Repub- 
licans and the Socialists ; and if there be anything that they 
regret in the past, it is the caricature of constitutional govern- 
ment under Louis Philippe ; if there be anything they hope 
for in the future, it is a part-jesuitical, part-liberal, part-right- 
divine, part-democratic, nondescript, piebald Restoration, which 
could only be acceptable to France as the ante- chamber of 
another Revolution. No one seems to look upon the defunct 
Republic as anything but an impertinent attempt to get ahead 
of ourselves ; or aware, that, no matter through what struggles, 
what sufferings, what disasters, it is absolutely necessary for 
France, having worked off the disease of dynasties, to revert to 
its attempt at self-government. 

I have mentioned the Socialists, but have no space to enter 
into an examination of their character and doctrines. Both 
seem to me to be considerably misunderstood in this country ; 
but as they are, in part,' themselves to blame for this, I do not 
wish to be their Don Quixotte. They have even placed them; 
selves out of the ordinary category of the " unprotected," and 
have courted rather than avoided attack. It is scarcely neces- 
sary to tell the reader who has followed me up to this point, 
that I am not a Socialist. I differ from that galaxy of schools 
on one fundamental point especially, — the belief that any thinker, 
or set of thinkers, can brood over the chaos of modern society 
and create form by invented laws. Nor do I admit that society 
is in a state of absolute chaos. True progress, according to my 
view, is the increase of the number of individuals who detach 
themselves from the inorganic mass of mankind, and develop 
their physical, intellectual, and moral qualities to the full extent 
of which they are capable under the conditions in which God 
has placed us. 

In a pure Despotism, one man only absorbs, as it were, the 
vital principle of a whole nation ; and small historians are 
never so much at ease as when the narrative of an empire's 



THE PEOPLE. 393 

fortunes becomes a mere series of biographies. History has 
often been reproached with neglecting to trouble itself about 
the people's doings, and dwelling only on the actions of kings 
and great men ; but an attempt to do otherwise produces a 
succession of essays on manners, and not political records and 
pictures of public life, which history should be. The truth is, 
that in purely monarchical times a nation is generally personified 
by one man, and it is quite sufficient to know what he did and 
thought ; for no sooner are his subjects astir, waking up for 
the future, than they come in contact with him, and their ad- 
ventures are necessarily interwoven with his. 

Let us not flatter the people by telling them that their 
ancestors in times gone by did things fit to record that have 
been suppressed by court-writers. They only become worthy 
of the rounded period and the measured sentence when they do 
things that the world cannot fail to hear of, which Fame roars 
in the uttermost parts of the earth before Thucydides has culled 
his words, or Tacitus ground the point of a sarcasm. Thus it is 
that in free states alone — or in the wrecks of free states, floating 
about ere they founder in the sea of Eternity — can great histo- 
rians find fitting themes for their genius. Annalists and chron- 
iclers, in shoals, rise up to celebrate the gesta of monarchs — 
" fathers of their people." I have no doubt that the present 
Emperor of the French will inspire as much eloquence as did 
Napoleon I. At any rate it is quite certain, that, for a time at 
least, the nation has become once more personified in a single 
man, and that it will be quite sufficient for Sir Archibald 
Alison, when he has caught up the present time, to narrate the 
doings at the Tuileries, Compiegne, or Fontainebleau, to enable 
us to understand precisely what have been the intellectual 
movements in France since the year 1852. Our eminent Econ- 
omist, Mr. Ricardo, has said, that if the net revenue of a nation 
remain the same, it is no matter how much population is dimi- 
nished ; in which case, cleverly replies M. Sismondi, the most 
18* 



394 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

perfect state would be that in which the Sovereign of England, 
by turning a handle, could do all the work of the country. In 
reality, Louis Napoleon new turns the handle which makes 
France go round. 

It would be a great mistake to suppose that the Socialists, as 
such, object to this state of things. The uncompromising sec- 
taries, indeed, rejoice ; for nearly all the schools which have 
aimed at reconstructing society have endeavoured to do so, 
more or less undisguisedly, by means of despotism. The same 
fanatics, whose efforts have made society heave and tremble, 
like a plain about to give birth to a volcano, for so many years 
past, now look complacently on the Emperor who has so sud- 
denly vaulted into the throne, admire the feat as they would 
admire the dexterity of a clown in a pantomime, and predict, 
with a faith worthy of admiration, that in spite even of himself, 
forcibly, necessarily, he will be compelled to work out some por- 
tion at least of their principles. They de* not like him person- 
ally ; but they know that all he has learned of political science 
has been learned from their books, that his mind has been 
hammered into shape by their teaching, and that whenever, 
therefore, he attempts to act without advice, which is always 
the suggestion of his nature, he must, to a certain extent, apply 
their theories. They also believe, that at the present stage of 
the history of the world no other ideas but their own can be 
applied ; and they, too, look forward to a Millennium. 

I wish particularly to speak without disrespect of the Social- 
ist writers — in their character of philosophers, not of politicians. 
It must be confessed that, for the last thirty years, they alone 
have kept speculation alive on the most important matters 
affecting man's worldly destiny. They have stirred all questions, 
and thrown light upon most ; and have done especial service in 
weakening the influence of that sort of geometrical politics 
which was getting so much into favour, and which endeavours 
to treat men as so many triangles, circles, and cubes, designates 



M. VICTOR CONSIDERANT. 395 

their dimensions by A, B, C, and rubs them out when in the way- 
like figures drawn with chalk on a black board. I have no 
desire to dispute the truth of the harshest deductions of political 
economy, at least for the present ; but I speak of tfite spirit in 
which it wrote, and would write still, if not forced by criticism 
into perpetual provisos. The Socialists had a fine opportunity, 
and made use of it to advantage. This was the great reason 
of their success with serious thinkers, and is their chief title to 
praise. Into the aberrations, extravagances, and abominations 
of a few amongst them, I cannot go ; but this must be said, that 
the worst things they recommend or apologise for are practised' 
by the antagonists who ciy out against them, and that, in gen- 
eral, their errors are of speculation, not of conduct. One day 
M. Victor Con siderant rose in the National Assembly, pale, hun- 
gry-looking, lath-like, and said, " Humanity is thirsting for 
enjoyment ! " " Those words are the words of a brute ! " shouted 
M. de Larochejaquelin, rearing his portly form and vinous face 
at the opposite extreme of the hemicycle. This anecdote sym- 
bolizes pretty well the present state of things in France. By 
the way, the Marquis de Larochejaquelin, who so violently 
opposed the coup d'etat — in words, which is as much as we could 
expect a Marquis to do — has accepted the equivocal dignity of 
Senator, and justifies himself by saying that he bows to univer- 
sal suffrage. Now, I am rather a partisan of universal suffrage 
myself; but if it voted that black was white, I should be silent 
without consenting. Of what party would M. de Larochejaque- 
lin have been in Sodom and Gomorrha ? 

It is the custom now amongst the middle classes, who groan 
under the new tyranny, to accuse Socialism of the misfortunes 
which have befallen the country ; and certainly the absurdities 
of that doctrine's partisans were cleverly taken advantage of by 
the President and his faction. But if the middle classes had 
been anything save what I have described them to be ; if they 
had respected what Socialism was accused of attacking ; if 



396 ' PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

amongst them there had been any other guaranty for morality 
than the law ; if they had regarded religion as anything better 
than a composing draught for excitable women ; if they had 
deemed the property of others sacred as well as their own ; if 
they had not practically treated labour as a slave, and denied 
the right of a man freely to dispose of his own arms and intelli- 
gence ; above all, if they had taken the trouble to study what 
alarmed them, or had been capable of understanding the 
elementary principle of politics ; instead of being foolishly 
frightened into abject but snarling submission — like Caliban 
under the heel of Prospero — they might now have been ruling 
France by their representatives.. For, after all, it is culpable to 
try and conceal the fact, that Universal Suffrage in France 
deliberately chose, not ignorant boys, not workmen, not dema- 
gogues, but nearly all the personages whose names had made 
the country illustrious under a constitutional government — law- 
yers, political writers, noblemen, poets, magistrates, diploma- 
tists, statesmen, almost every name that will stud the pages of 
history ; and that it was these men, assembled as the delegates 
of ten millions of electors, who proved themselves incapable of 
conducting the business of the country, credulous as children, 
timid as hares, the tool and the foil of a single man, protected 
from their authority during the greater part of the time by 
public opinion alone ! 

A Minister has taken what he considers a powerful argu- 
ment, from recent occurrences in France, against an extension 
of the suffrage in this country ; and it appears that this said ar- 
gument is considered good for use in refined circles. But un- 
less our aristocracy be as corrupt, or rather as effete as that of 
France — unless our middle classes be infected with the same 
kind of immorality, equally weak, equally ignorant, equally 
timorous, there is no parallel between the cases at all ; and the 
attempt at reasoning I have referred to is merely an insult to 
this country. It is not universal suffrage that has been tried 



M. LEDRU ROLLIN. 397 

and found wanting in France, but the class from which alone 
universal suffrage could prudently choose its representatives. A 
great deal of blame has been cast upon M. Ledru Rollin for 
his suggestion, that workmen ought to have been elected to the 
Constituent Assembly ; and certainly that was an unwise thing 
to say in the face of a conceited bourgeoisie, that fancied itself 
to be the culminating point of humanity. The great Tribune, 
however, knew very well how the Republic was menaced. He 
knew that the people of France were proud of what it was the 
fashion to call their ' ; illustrations ; " but that these said illustra- 
tions were, in general, so totally destitute of moral principle, so 
utterly contemptuous of truth, that they would go down on 
their knees — abjure Legitimacy, Orleanism, Bonapartism — 
swear, curse, and get elected ; and then at once begin to in- 
trigue and conspire against Democracy, which they had kissed, 
and hugged, and coaxed, in the hour of danger. Talk of Louis 
Napoleon's perjury, indeed ! How many other men not onrjf 
took oaths to defend the Republic, which they were preparing 
to overthrow, but actually outbid the Republicans themselves 
in the extravagance of their levelling enthusiasm ! If by any 
chance our present Constitution were overthrown, and the Eng- 
lish nation were called upon to elect an Assembly, many strange 
sights would, no doubt, be seen ; but I am quite sure we should 
not meet on the hustings our landed aristocracy and our country 
gentlemen basely professing to be converted to the extremest 
doctrines of popular government — making Bright and Cobden 
appear Conservatives by contrast, and running neck-and-neck 
with Julian Harney and Ernest Jones ! 

It is true that we are not blessed with the doctrine of men- 
tal reservation — that thimbleriggery of the conscience — or 
with the equally convenient theory, according to which the op- 
ponents of the Jesuits maintain that, in politics, expediency is 
identical with right. When, therefore, in the imprudent cir- 
culars by which M. Ledru Rollin revealed his secret thoughts, 



398 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

he hinted the necessity of restricting the number of People's 
Representatives taken from the middle classes, it was clear that 
he foresaw the disgraceful " dodge " by which the monarchical 
parties — perhaps rather acting from habitual dishonesty than 
from concert — would acquire sufficient ascendency in the Gov- 
ernment to enable them to disgust the nation with the name of 
a Republic. How wonderfully clever did this manoeuvre appear 
to them ! Not an opportunity was lost of carrying it out. Taxes 
were increased in the name of the Republic ; the . embarrass- 
ments left by the Monarchy were officially attributed to the 
Republic ; all misfortunes, all disasters, all insurrections, all loss 
of influence, though brought about designedly, were represent- 
ed as natural consequences of a Republic. What a fine piece 
of poetical justice was seen when these perfumed Machiavels, 
whilst adding up, in a bye-place which they fancied to be the 
centre, the results of their political sum — saying, so much misery 
inflicted, so much imprisonment, so much bloodshed, make a 
Restoration — were suddenly swept away, and overwhelmed by 
a corner of the avalanche that buried in the same hour the lib- 
erties of the country ! 

I have several times alluded casually to the influence which 
the clergy in France exercise upon political affairs : in every 
case it has been bad, and indeed wherever a priest— whether he 
derives authority from the Roman Pope, or chooses a tempo- 
ral Pope, or is his own Pope — interferes, in matters of govern- 
ment, it is always to endeavour to apply some principle repug- 
nant to the feelings of human nature. The ecclesiastical mind, 
even in its purest state, seems incapable of discerning the differ- 
ence between moral and civil laws, and is always inclined to 
call in the sword of power to enforce religious duties. I believe 
that it is right to make the Sabbath a day of cheerful rest, but 
I would not pass a law to compel my neighbour to observe it 
as I do. I do not feel a call to be virtuous for other people, 
finding it a hard matter to be virtuous for myself. Wo priest 



FRENCH CLERGY. S99 

can make this distinction. I speak now of the pure. How 
many there are who think they escape the obligation of doing 
good themselves, if they force the world by whips and goads 
into the right path ! 

It is difficult to say what are the real feelings of the clergy in 
France towards the present Government ; but one thing is certain, 
that at the coup d'etat the whole Gallican Church — following 
partly the instinct of all churches, partly influenced by promises 
and threats — threw their weight in the scale of usurpation. 
Their sagacity told them there was great probability that 
the new state of things would be tolerably lasting ; and they 
knew of the saying of Prince Metternich : " An usurpation that 
lasts is a legitimacy that is beginning," — a curious admission, 
by the bye, for a supporter of arbitrary government. Perhaps, 
in their hearts, the majority of the upper clergy still yearn for 
Henri V. 

* A new sight in Paris at the present day is the appearance* 
in the streets, of friars of all orders in their coarse robes, rope 
girdles, and bare feet. Men of war and men of religion, in- 
deed, swarm everywhere ; and, no doubt, as much gratitude as 
the Church can afford has been earned. Some Catholic friends, 
however, whisper to me, that already has the Emperor done as 
much as he can ; another dynasty would do more ! Ingrati- 
tude ! No. When once the clerical influence becomes domi- 
nant in a mind, it is useless to apply the ordinary vocabulary. 
A true Catholic — and, indeed, an extreme Protestant — ceases 
to be a man and becomes another thing, which might be respec- 
table, if anything could that had abdicated its individuality. 

The influence of priests over women in France is still great, 
and seems, indeed, on the increase. This is the door through 
which slavish notions enter a family ; and not only slavish no- 
tions, but, I am assured, immoral praetice : which is likely, as these 
things generally go together. Nothing would be more absurd 
than to imagine that every priest who obtains complete mas- 



400 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

teiy over a woman's mind must necessarily dispose of her per- 
son. In fact, priests are but men ; and besides, many, perhaps 
most, priests are good men. The Catholic Church can show as 
bright examples of piety as the Protestant. Wholesale accusa- 
tions can come only from prurient minds. But even Romish 
priests will admit that there is in France a general and sin- 
cere belief throughout the educated classes that a Confessor or 
" Director " often merges into a lover. The Abbe Michon, in 
his " Essay on Woman," informs us that men of the world, when 
they read a celebrated work by Michelet, said to themselves — 
they were married men — " Ah .! we understand now why the 
cure laughs to himself as he passes us ! " This is a strange ad- 
mission to make, but it coincides with all I have heard. Ask 
any grisette whose word you can trust. She will almost 
always tell you that the first immoral ideas ever suggested 
to her came from a priest. One has to say that M. le Cure 
took her to .the theatre in plain clothes ; the other, that he 
gave her queer books ; the other, that he invited her home to 
be catechised ; the other, that he told her that telling lies for 
personal advantage was no sin. This last illustration was given 
me by a married woman, who related how a priest had tried to 
seduce her. She was maintaining that it would be wrong to 
deceive her husband, and her ghostly father was endeavouring 
to calm her conscience. Of course, it is impossible to know 
how often similar scenes occur. I have heard of hundreds of 
corroborative facts. If all be not mere calumnies, however, we 
can easily understand how the French, rather from prejudice 
than from reason, are disposed to verge towards infidelity. 

The abbe whom I have already quoted, relates how he once 
met a man in the fields, who hastened to inform him, as if it 
were an interesting fact, that he believed " neither in heaven 
nor in hell." On being mildly expostulated with, he grew 
warm, and began to ' attack the clergy, saying, among other 
fine things, " Those gentlemen in black tried to persuade us 
that Voltaire would not be admitted into Paradise ; but when 



PRIESTS AND WOMEN. 401 

he presented himself at the gates, St. Peter opened them back 
on their hinges, and ushered him in with a bow." I believe 
that this somewhat burlesque anecdote illustrates the mental 
state of most of the persons who glory in professing themselves 
Materialists. I once met an English workman — a good sort of 
fellow enough — who was very loud in assertion of irreligious 
opinions. I was drawn into conversation with him, and found 
that he had suffered some persecutions, " for conscience sake," 
as he described it. He was full of indignation against the 
world for turning a cold shoulder to him. " It isn't fair," said 
he. " When they meets a Hatheist they bowls him down!" 
" Well, sir," replied I, " so they ought. You have bowled 
down something more respectable than yourself, or they would 
have paid no attention to you." He could not understand it. 
Why should they bowl him down ? He never " bowled no- 
body " down for their creed. Wasn't it a divine precept, 
" Db as you would be done by ? " When I read M. 1' Abbe's 
anecdote, I was reminded of this unfortunate victim of opinion. 
The clergy and their supporters in France pretend that the 
country is gradually coming round to religion, or rather to 
Catholic doctrines. No doubt some ground may have been 
gained upon weak minds, wearied with the continual agitation 
of the last few years. Besides, religion has been taken up by 
some as a fashion — a disastrous sign. I do not believe, how- 
ever, that anything has occurred to induce thinking men in 
France to draw nearer the Church. On the contrary, the fact 
that the black robe ranged itself on the side of the red panta- 
loon on the very first day of the Praetorian insurrection of 
December, 1851, will never be forgotten, either by the Bour- 
geoisie or the Democracy. 



CHAPTEE XXVIII. 

The French Ouvriers— Strikes in England and France— The Livret— Conciliation- 
Power of the Working Classes— Political Opinions — Different Grades of Workmen 
—Poverty in France— Socialism— Levelling Doctrines— Mr. Dickens— Various 
Monopolies— Influence on Character— Expenditure for Comfort— Dirt— Education 
of the Ouvriers— Their Manners— Marriages— An Ancient Bride— Places of 
Amusement— Songs— Workmen, how treated by the Government — Dangerous 
Classes— M. Fregier— The Chiffonniers— Number Seven— A Classical Encounter 
—Medical Eagman— An Interloper— Miserable Classes— Communism— Theory o f 
the Commonwealth— The Dividers— Taxation— " Utopia." 

My plan does not lead me to describe the state or character of 
the working classes of Paris. As, however, I have alluded to 
the fact, that under the reign of Louis Philippe labour was not 
free, I may as well explain what that expression means. I 
shall do so by a comparison. Whilst these pages are going 
through the press, the papers are full of accounts of a strike 
that has taken place in a manufacturing town. Without en- 
tering into the question of " strikes," I must observe that there 
is evidently something very unsatisfactory in the relations of 
capital and labour when there is left no other means of bring- 
ing about an adjustment of rival claims than this most waste- 
ful one. However, even those who fully sympathise with the 
masters against the men, admit the right of the latter to "play" 
if they please. This has never-been the case in France. 
Whenever a strike takes place, certain persons are singled out 
as ringleaders, and severely dealt with by the law. I remember 
an instance in which twenty were tried in the most summary 



FRENCH OUVRIERS. 403 

manner, and sentenced to one and two years's imprisonment. 
It should also be kept in mind that a French workman is regis- 
tered, as our seamen are, and bound to be provided with a little 
book (livret), which serves as a passport and a testimonial. 
Masters sometimes, when offended by a workman, write a dam- 
ning character of him in his livret, which he dare not destroy. 
In this way he may be prevented from ever obtaining employ- 
ment again. 

• All Governments have looked with suspicion and hatred 
upon this large and intelligent class ; and after the Republic 
had been proclaimed — when the Bourgeoisie got the upper 
hand, instead of endeavouring to loosen the chains of the 
workmen, it desired to rivet them tighter. The French middle 
classes do not understand the word " conciliation " to mean any 
thing but repression with the strong hand; for which they 
were deservedly rewarded, by being told by the government 
papers, whilst the echoes of the cannon of the Boulevards had 
not yet died away, that the work of Louis Napoleon was a 
work of " conciliation ! " 

The ouvriers in France, as distinguished from the agricul- 
tural labourers, or proprietaires, and the shopkeepers little and 
great, are necessarily a very small minority. Even with the 
assistance of the intelligent sections of the middle classes — the 
students, the artists, and other professional men, who hold the 
same or similar opinions — they are vastly inferior in numbers to 
the inert or conservative members of the community. Their 
power of thought, however, really doubles their strength, and 
makes them imagine it to be tenfold ; and this is the reason 
why they have adopted predilections for a particular form of 
government, which allows greater development of 'individual 
worth, and why they constantly endeavour to establish that 
form by reason or by force. 

I suppose it is scarcely necessary for me to observe, that all 
this is not intended to mean that the French workmen are uni- 



404 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

versally intelligent or respectable, or that they are all agreed in 
theoretical republicanism. Many of them, are mere Socialists, 
and look upon the State as a piece of machinery, whose duty 
it is to provide them, not only with subsistence, but with enjoy- 
ment. Others are thoughtless savages, busy only with the 
cares of animal life, worshippers of tyranny, sceptics in every 
department — food for the cannon or the guillotine. Their 
worst features are described by M. Fregier, who looks at human 
nature with the eye of a policeman, and philosophises in the 
tone of a detective. I have found them too various in character 
to describe under a few general heads. A certain amount of 
good may, however, be predicated of them all. They are, as a 
class, less corrupt than the bourgeoisie — not that their conduct 
is less "repulsive," for, of course, it is more so: a rogue in 
white gloves and patent leathers may pass where a corduroy- 
dressed villain would not be suffered — but they act more 
consistently on principle, and their souls are by no means so 
distorted. 

I speak now of the class of ouvriers who, by the amount of 
their earnings, are enabled to exhibit individual character, and 
to live with something of the independence of men. In many 
cases, and in many periods, this has not been always so, either 
in France or in England. Before the establishment of free 
trade, the public used to be shocked by sanitary reports, con- 
taining the most horrible revelations — facts that proved the 
existence of large masses living, not from choice, but necessity, 
in brutal promiscuity ; and I imagine that time has not yet 
been allowed for the habits then acquired to be lost. In France 
— despite the complacent assertions of economical writers when 
they institute comparisons — more misery has been experienced 
than in England. The comfort of a French ouvrier would, in- 
deed, be considered poverty amongst us. Socialism, which is as 
old as the hills, and expresses the aspirations of the human race 
after indefinite material happiness, owes its success in modern 



UTOPIAN THEORIES. 405 

times to the misery created by the manufacturing system under 
the guidance of political martinets, who would continue to ap- 
ply rules of discipline now that were invented for another agte. 

One of the most successful epigrams directed against demo- 
cracy — which deals with social reform without endeavouring 
to apply Utopian theories — is, that its tendency is to " level : " 
in fact, to give every man, woman, and child, sevenpence half- 
penny a-day, and bid them be joyful. I call this an epigram, 
though it is generally put forward as a profound argument. 
But there are various kinds of levelling. The ocean is level, 
though its billows rise and fall, and are not frozen into a huge 
cold flat. What is meant by levelling, in a philosophical sense, 
is clearing away all artificial causes which make men different 
from one another, not only in station, but in mind — aye, and in 
body, too. Mr. Dickens, possibly with a view of serving the 
cause of reform, is fond of painting the monsters which the 
womb brings not forth, but which circumstances create. No 
doubt many of his characters may be called " exaggerated," in 
the ordinary sense of the word ; but if we look close to great 
historical pictures, we shall find the paint heaped up in disagree- 
able ridges, and colours placed in impossible juxtaposition. The 
general effect of contrast is observable only from a distance ; 
and so, if we cast a rapid glance over Mr. Dickens's Gallery of 
Portraits, we shall have an impression sufficiently consonant to 
nature to enable us to argue upon it. Experience, also, is there 
to give evidence. We may maintain, then, that society, as at 
present constituted, contains causes which give a monopoly of 
comfort, of knowledge, and of beauty to some — no matter what 
the proportion — whilst others are distorted, physically and intel- 
lectually, and suffer the extremes of misery. If, then, it can 
be shown — as most certainly it can — that most of these causes 
are not only created by man, but often wilfully created, the case 
of democracy is clearly made out; and the French ouvrier is 
absolved from the charge of being a mere amateur revolu- 
tionist. 



406 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

Nothing is so difficult as to estimate in what degree charac- 
ter and manners are influenced from without. According to 
some, circumstances shape us altogether ; and reformers have 
frequently been misled so far as to base their demands for new 
regulations on this strange belief, demanding, at the same time, 
to be empowered to " create new circumstances I " But never, 
by culture and watering, can you change a gooseberry-bush into 
an oak ; though, by trying to procure acorns, you may get 
better gooseberries. This premised, it is worth while to point 
out how rapidly the shape, size, and condition of dwellings, in- 
fluence the characters of men. It has been said that, if sham- 
bles were built on any spot, and all who chose were allowed 
to inhabit them., they would soon be occupied by a race of be- 
ings lower than any yet known. Indeed, in the present style of 
civilisation, men require to be forced or lured into good habits. 
Most of the lower classes, in England especially, when left to 
themselves, even "in tolerable prosperity, grudge expenditure for 
comfort. The last want felt by the dirty is cleanliness. In 
France the same remark is not applicable ; for there, both men 
and women — at least, in Paris — have a certain respect for their 
persons, and spend a much greater proportion of their earnings 
'in dress and toilette than individuals in corresponding stations 
with us. Even masons live almost entirely on bread, cheese, 
and soup, in order to be toleraoly well dressed. This fact excites 
the jeers of full-fed Englishmen, but is really admirable, unless 
we admit that beef is the object of life. 

Altogether the ouvriers — I mean now the skilled workmen 
of France — are distinguished by a certain gentleness of bearing 
and elegance of demeanour; not perceptible, perhaps, to- a 
stranger, who looks for these qualities only when accompanied 
by a fashionable dress. None of the lower classes of Paris have 
that brutal habit of insulting foreigners in the streets on account 
of any peculiarities of dress or appearance, which is so common in 
England. On my return from the East, I wore the tarboosh for 



THE MIDDLE CLASSES. 40*7 

some time without provoking any remark — except from one 
person ; and that person was an Englishman, who had just 
emerged from Meurice's hotel ! 

The French workmen speak in very good language, and are 
far better informed on history and politics than the ordinary 
bourgeois. They read much, and know — not critically, yet in 
a very solid manner — all about the literature of their country. 
But this comparison with the lower bourgeoisie — that is, the 
shopkeeping class — scarcely suggests the truth ; for they, as a 
luTe, read nothing but a single paper, and are perfectly destitute 
of information. A workman, on the contrary, of the better sort, 
has his mind full of acquired facts, sometimes oddly arranged, 
sometimes accompanied by strange theories ; but still, there he 
is, a man who has studied what he has been instructed to call 
" the fortunes of humanity," — that is, the history of France — 
who is perfectly familiar with the doings of the great Kevolu- 
tion — convinced of the sacred right of man to take charge of 
his own affairs if he pleases — able to give a reason for the faith 
that is in him — and sufficiently enthusiastic to be ready, at a 
moment's notice, to risk his life for the defence of his ideas. 
The existence of such a body of men in a country — though in 
the proportion of leaven to dough — is sufficient to account for 
revolution against all forms of despotism ; and we maybe quite 
sure that, unless the present Emperor succeed in totally destroy- 
ing it, which is impossible, there is no chance of a new Dynasty 
being founded in Erance. 

The manners of the ouvriers I have no space to describe. 
In some respects they resemble those of the middle classes to a 
wonderful extent ; but they have many peculiarities. A consi- 
derable number are addicted to drinking, not only wine, but 
spirits ; and are, consequently, disorderly and immoral. The 
practice of concubinage is very general ; but the workmen do 
not change about so much as the students, — whose manners 
they imitate to a certain extent, — and almost always marry their 



408 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

mistresses if they have children. An old carpenter, nearly 
eighty years of age, came to me not long ago, and told me he 
was " going to marry his wife," — that is^the woman he had 
been living with for fifty-three years. I saw the good old lady 
a day or two afterwards, and she seemed quite proud to be a 
bride ! 

In various parts of the city, but especially outside the bar- 
riers, are dancing-places and guinguettes, or goguettes, entirely 
frequented by the working classes. Here they enjoy themselves 
in their own way, often becoming very boisterous. When they 
dance, however — at least, so far as I have seen — they do so 
without the absurdity or the indecency of " their betters." ^ On 
the other hand, the songs they delight in are full of coarse allu- 
sions ; which it is natural to expect. The lyrics admired by 
well-educated persons are equally, perhaps more, immoral ; but 
arrows pierce them that would fall blunted from the skin of a 
tough ouvrier. I should observe, that any one who ventures to 
visit the common places of resort of the workmen must arm 
himself with especial politeness. He will meet with nobody 
who does not expect to be called Monsieur or Madame. Don't 
shove a workman in the street, or expect him to stand out of 
the way, because you are well dressed. If you do, take the con- 
sequence. He is oppressed and annoyed by the Government, 
but is proud for all that. It is well to mention, that there is 
no limit to the price that a shopkeeper in France may charge 
for a broken window ; and workmen are often thrown into pri- 
son for sheer accidents, being unable to make good the damage. 
The police seem to take a pride in vexing them. At present, no 
ouvrier can come from Lyons to.Paris unless he can show that 
he has not only been engaged, but has seven pounds sterling in 
his possession. A thousand little circumstances of this kind 
make this class exceedingly irritable. They are like Samson 
chained in the temple, and we must not be surprised if they 
now and then attempt to shake down the whole edifice of society. 



THE CHIFFONNIER. 409 

In Paris, as in every other great city, there exist large classes 
of persons who seem, at first sight, to be mere excrescences, but 
who, in the present disorganised state of society, are as neces- 
sary as sewers. M. Fregier labels them " dangerous," and de- 
scribes them with some success. He includes, however, too 
many or too few in his catalogue ; and his book is written in 
an unphilosophical spirit. The Chiffonniers, for example, num- 
bering about six thousand, are only dangerous because they are 
poor ; which is a common crime. These men go about with a 
basket on their backs, a lantern in one hand, and in the other 
a stick with a piece of iron at the end, the whole shaped like a 
7. For this reason Fifine always called them Number Seven. 
They scrape about for bones, glass, and other articles which 
may be turned to account. Some of them actually pick up 
sufficient food to live on. Not long ago, an old woman was 
found who had been living for years in this way. Respect for 
human nature forbids a description of the state she was in. 
The poor wretch admitted that she used to eat even the poul- 
tices thrown out from the hospitals. She was in a dying state, 
and was soon relieved. 

There are no dust-bins in Paris. Every person is obliged, 
either after dark or before nine o'clock in the morning, to throw 
out the dirt of the day in a little heap before the door of the 
house. Then comes the Chiffonnier, and after him the dust- 
man. Number Seven is an odd character. The class forms a 
refuge for extreme misery of all kinds. Not long ago a friend 
of mine, coming home late at night, asked a Chiffonnier what 
o'clock it was. The answer he received was a quotation from 
Horace. No doubt here was a student, brought to that pass 
by an exaggeration of the wild kind of life which all his fellows 
lead. In the Faubourg St. Antoine there is a Chiffonnier who 
industriously follows his calling by night, and in the daytime 
practices as a medical man. His patients are numerous, but 
poor ; so that this is the least profitable half of his occupation. 
19 



410 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

He studied formerly at the Hotel Dieu — had the most expen- 
sive mistresses in Paris — ran through a fortune — and now lives 
amongst old bones, rags, and offal. • 

Generally speaking, the Chiffonnier crawls rather than 
walks about, intent and eager. If you speak to him, he an- 
swers uncivilly ; and never raises the eyes, which he is darting 
hither and thither — often, it is said, rather in hope of a silver 
spoon or a purse of gold, than of the legitimate objects of his 
industry. One piece of good luck often makes a man unhappy 
and anxious for ever, lest another should escape him. The 
other night, in a street in the Faubourg St. Germain, I saw a 
dark figure stealing along the wall, and stopping at each pile 
of dust before a gateway. It was dressed entirely in black, and 
walked so lightly that it must have worn only stockings. This 
was an Interloper — a grade below the regular chiffonniers, who 
are numbered, and would have attacked or denounced him to 
the police. He set down his bag, looking all the time up and 
down the street, scratched in the heaps of dirt, selected a few 
things, and went on rapidly, noiselessly, like a shadow. 

But I cannot dig down through all these strata. It is suffi- 
cient to say, that beneath the workmen — who produce, amongst 
other things, all those wonderful pieces of art in the shape of 
furniture and ornaments which have made Paris famous — there 
is a very large mass of miserable and almost unclassed people, 
following strange and incomprehensible occupations, from whose 
ranks in times of civil disorder the sutlers and marauders — not 
the soldiers of an emeute — generally issue. It is amongst these 
that, under the name of Communism — falsely assumed — has 
spread a sort of doctrine, never yet reduced to writing, the ulti- 
mate object of which is not exactly spoliation — for this word im- 
plies plan — but a snatch at the good things of others, a drunken 
bout, a surfeit, and after that the deluge. The doctrine — if so it 
can be called — sprang, no doubt, into existence in the brain of 
some dizzy, faded student, as reeling homewards he caught 



COMMUNISM. 411 

sight of a pile of gold absurdly displayed in a money-changer's 
window ; or, perhaps it suggested itself simultaneously to many 
poor wretches greedy of enjoyments not reserved for them. 
Such notions are very unfortunate, both to those who entertain 
them and to society at large ; because they entail the expense 
of three penal colonies on the coast of France, five hundred pri- 
sons, and I know not how many gendarmes. But to confound 
these hoarse ragamuffins with a great political party, as the 
French Reactionists did from design, and many Englishmen do 
from ignorance, is positively criminal. 

The true theory of Communism, or, more properly, of the 
Commonwealth, considered as a basis for practice, has never 
yet been clearly stated. We have had Utopias of all kinds — 
some beautiful, others not ; but the schools that have adopted 
them, all make the mistake of supposing that they are bound 
to transfer to this world an exact resemblance of the theory 
they have dreamed of. " Absurd and dangerous ! There is a 
man who wants to have all things in common, or to divide all 
things equally, " cries the Public, which sees no difference be- 
tween these things ; " shoot him down : he is a robber ! " Stop, 
good Public ! give him the Eastern privilege : for he is only 
benevolently insane. Do you not know that he will lose by 
division as well as you, and that he is the worshipper of an idea ? 
Divide ! Why, in six weeks the whole world would be mort- 
gaged to usurers. But what set of men, sufficiently intellectual, 
and in sufficient numbers to be dangerous, ever thought of this 
nonsense ? What necessity is there of proving the inequalities 
of our nature — the various degrees of intellect and of virtue ? 
In France it has become the common saying, that the Parta- 
geux, or Dividers, were stupidly invented by Property in one of 
its fear-fits. The real living sect is that of the Communists — a 
knot of stern Epicureans, who lie upon hard boards, waiting for 
the day when the application of their system is to enable them 
to lie upon roses. We may safely say that, even under the 



412 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

form of Organisation of Labour, this school is never destined to 
guide the footsteps of the world. 

But there exists another kind of Communism, as yet not 
well formulated, according to which every man who is born into 
society has, by the very fact of his existence, a claim on it — not 
for alms, but for guidance and comfort. The sectaries of this 
doctrine have for the cold theories of political economy, when 
it pretends to be anything else than the arithmetical part of 
politics, an undisguised horror. Instead of regarding the State 
as a machine for producing the greatest amount of wealth pos- 
sible with the least amount of population, — instead of calculat- 
ing how Labour may be increased or diminished according to 
the principles of supply and demand, — it accepts every man that 
is born into this world as a brother with an immortal soul, and 
seeks to find or make a place for him. Among its chief econo- 
mical tenets is this, that wealth is one — the joint product of the 
exertions of the whole country, of the magistrate and the pub- 
lic instructor as of the capitalist and the labourer, — that it is, 
properly speaking, the superfluity that .remains after the neces- 
sities of all have been supplied. The practical deduction from 
this idea is, that taxation — intended to carry on the business of 
all — should take cognizance of this superfluity, and of it alone, 
in whatever vessels it may exist ; and that the system we have 
hitherto applied to some extent, of paring off a little bit of each 
man's earnings, is absurd and iniquitous. In reality, however, 
a great deal of England's financial sj^stem is, and has been, ob- 
scurely based on the true conception of a Commonwealth. 
The Poor Laws, in all their variations of form, admit the claim 
of every man to share of the common estate sufficient to sup- 
port existence ; but a higher, though more partial, application 
of the same intuitively-felt doctrines, dictated the recent tax on 
the transmission of landed property. Another opportunity, 
however, must be taken of expressing these notions ; and I 
hope to be able to do so in "Utopia." 



CHAPTER, XXIX. 

The Material of Emeutes— The Artistical Classes — Wide-spread Taste— Number of 
Artists — Their Opinions — How Eeputations are Created — Prudhon — Introduction 
of Artistic Feeling into France— Its Transmission to the Bourgeoisie — Opinions 
of Painters — Atelier of M. Jeanron — His Pupils — The Eeception-day — Approach 
of the Coup cVetat — Atelier of Alexis — Master Jules — Borrowing Money — A visit 
to Jules — His Workshop— Inscription on the Walls— M. Credeville— A Loquacious 
Model — Dunning an Artist— Basil — A Lazy Fellow— Waiting for Inspiration— The 
Loustic and the Eapin — Practical Jokes — Change in the Manners of Artists — Anal- 
ogy from Military Life. 

Although trie better portion of the working classes forms the 
depository of democratic opinion in France, and supplies the ma- 
terial of imeutes, yet the most active and best known leaders 
are still, as in the old Revolution, found amongst the students 
and in the ranks of the liberal professions, medical men, lawyers, 
artists, and especially literary men, that is, polictical writers. 
This statement, which will be recognised as a truth by aU per- 
sons acquainted with the subject, might give me the cue of sev- 
eral chapters ; but I Lave no pretension to say everything, and 
begin, moreover, " to see land." Already, sufficiently, perhaps, 
for my purpose, I have given a view of the state of manners, 
which in France imperatively calls for new and wise institutions, 
and at the same time exposes it to fall and to remain under 
despotism. I shall now say a few words of the Artists, among 
whom I was placed just previous to the coup d'etat, as this will 
lead me to relate a few of my personal experiences at that extra- 
ordinary time. 



414 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

One of the distinctive characteristics of the French nation is 
its love of Art. No one can deny that it possesses this in an 
eminent degree, though, from want of proper cultivation, the 
practical results are not commensurate with the strength of the 
passion — at least in the higher departments. The French wo- 
man, when she chooses the colours of her dress and arranges its 
graceful folds, is an artist — quite as much as the cook or the his- 
torical painter. The ouvrier, when he creates a table, a work- 
box, a vase, a watch, or a brooch, is pre-eminently an artist. 
Even the lad who displays shawls and muslins in a shop-window 
has the artistic feeling. It is not surprising, therefore, that the 
number of persons who apply themselves to drawing and paint- 
ing and sculpture is immense. In Paris alone there are rather 
more than six thousand artists, in our sense of the word, of whom 
one-half are amateurs, and the other half gain, or endeavour to 
gain, a living by their profession. Almost the whole of them 
have spent several years in the atelier or studio of a master, and 
have acquired a certain esprit de corps and a peculiar way of 
viewing things. The great majority are Republicans, more or 
less fanatical — though some of the most successful gentlemen 
now affect aristocratic ideas. 

I have hinted that French love of Art, in as far as it has to 
do with patronage, is by no means enlightened. To prove this 
would take me into a special discussion and necessitate invidious 
remarks. I could give instances innumerable to prove that the 
small class of persons who buy pictures are directed in their 
choice more by accident than by science ; and that the public 
willingly admires what it is told to admire. The history of the 
reputation of Prudhon, now so popular, is a case in point. Dur- 
ing his lifetime he was only appreciated by a few friends, con- 
noisseurs, but uninfluential ; and it was only twenty years after 
his death that he began to be talked of. At present, pictures 
which would scarcely be sold at all in his life now fetch thou- 
sands of francs ; and there is a disposition to overrate him. I 






LOVE OF ART. 415 

know an instance in which an amateur, who spoke with contempt 
of a now well-known painter, was rebuked severely by a critic, 
and was possessed, six months afterwards, of pieces by that very 
hand to the value of eight hundred pounds. A more singular 
case of the same kind would require the mention of individuals 
now living ; but perhaps this sort of thing is sufficiently common 
all the world over to enable the reader to understand what must 
be its manifestations where it exists in an excessive degree. 

I compare the growth of a reputation, artistic or literary, in 
France, to the progress of the Giaour in " Vathek," who, after 
he has been kicked from the steps of the throne, rolls himself 
into a ball, and by some unaccountable attraction draws after 
him the deadly-eyed Prince, Carathis, the War Minister, the 
courtiers, the people — even the halt and the infirm. By some 
accident, one or two amateurs become convinced, with or without 
reason, that a man has genius, and begin running after him. 
Very soon the whole country is bewitched, and away it goes, 
like a pack of hounds after puss, until some other game crosses 
the track, when it turns aside and leaves the first victim of its 
enthusiasm astonished, and no doubt rather grieved, at its 
safety. 

It was not until the time of the Fronde that the young no- 
bility of France, sent abroad by their families to travel out of 
the way of civil dissensions, acquired and brought home a real 
admiration for art. Some fifty gentlemen, with means and 
leisure at their disposal, began then to praise and buy pictures, 
and encourage genius to do its best. Their taste was, perhaps, 
never very refined. At any rate, it rapidly deteriorated. Yet, 
up to the Eevolution, there was a constant and, to a certain 
extent, an enlightened patronage of art. A little previously, the 
wealthy bourgeoisie, more from imitation than from any other 
cause, had begun to purchase pictures and try to understand 
their beauties. Probably, had things remained quiet, the edu- 
cation of their taste would have been successful ; but time was 



416 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

not allowed them, and they were left heirs of a fashion instead 
of a science. They, as well as the people at large, had an in- 
stinctive veneration of Art — though more as a name than as a 
thing. It was their impression that Art was a great and beau- 
tiful manifestation of the mind, and they endeavoured with less 
success than might have been wished to appreciate its produc- 
tions. France, therefore, possesses a wealthy middle class, really 
disposed to hail and reward the genuine artist, but without the 
power of recognising him when he appears. This accounts for 
so many sudden and ephemeral reputations. The bourgeoisie 
are conscientiously on the look-out for great men, and are easily 
deceived into supposing they have found them. Under such 
circumstances, we need not wonder that intrigue and quackery 
are almost necessary to whomsoever desires to succeed. 

Among themselves the artists affect, above all things, to de- 
spise the bourgeoisie feeling and those who truckle to it. -One 
of their number is excommunicated because he did not insult a 
grocer, who exclaimed, " Your picture is a masterpiece ; but I 
cannot buy it, for it is six inches too wide." Another is accused 
of selling for two hundred francs what he had previously asked 
a thousand for. In truth, however, all the really professional 
men are obliged to be tolerably condescending to the ignorance 
and indelicacy with which they have to deal, and revenge them- 
selves when alone by pasquinade and satire. 

The atelier of my friend M. Jeanron is, perhaps, the best 
reproduction of a workshop of one of the Old Masters that can 
be seen. It reproduces because it is no imitation, being govern- 
ed by the frank originality of the presiding spirit. The walls 
are, as usual, hung with casts, sketches, and half-finished paint- 
ings, in rather odd disorder ; the easels are dispersed in appa- 
rent confusion ; and it requires some steadiness of nerve in a 
stranger to pick his way towards that tall, workman-looking 
man, who sits yonder hard at it, just looks up as you come in, 
and generally gives you his wrist to shake, both hands being 






AMATEURS. 417 

better . employed or daubed with paint. English amateurs — 
who have found him out, as they generally do contrive to find 
out true genius abroad— look sometimes amusingly aghast as 
they steer amidst chairs laden with pallets, basins of water, old 
shoes, turnips, or oyster-shells ; for, besides being eminent as a 
scriptural painter and inimitable in marine landscapes, M. Jean- 
ron indulges occasionally in a bit of still life. Besides, there is 
Andre — the tall son, who looks astonished at finding himself a 
giant, and who draws and paints already like an old Fleming, 
making marvellous promise for the future ; and then there is 
the jovial M. Jeanlisse, the immemorial pupil, ready to turn his 
hand to anything, seemingly for ever removing large easels or 
colossal canvasses, unhooking casts, pounding colours, inventing 
new mechanical assistances, and yet finding time not only to 
make most exquisite compositions of children at play, of Cupids 
in shady places, that remind us of Prudhon, but to model groups 
which he may, perhaps, never surpass in freshness, though he 
may in mere handling. However, I shall not praise these gen- 
tlemen, otherwise they may imagine I wish to soften them to- 
wards me because of some hard things I have been obliged to 
say of their country and the state of its manners. 

I have spent most pleasant hours in this admirable atelier, 
talking of all matters, from theology to table-turning. On a 
Tuesday friends come in crowds, and change the room into a 
salon. That's the time to enjoy really intellectual conversation ; 
but on such occasions I am afraid that Madame Jeanron inter- 
feres to destroy the picturesqueness of the scene. It is evident 
that a horrid duster has passed that way ; the chairs are ar- 
ranged with an amusing attempt at symmetry, and seem to 
cast side-glances at each other in astonishment ; and Jeanron 
himself has actually put aside the trowsers in which two men, 
even two such men as he, could stand, and the old jacket with 
its million stains ; and appears in all the glories of a dress-suit 
and a white neckcloth ! The lady has certainly much to an- 
19* 



418 



PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 



swer for. Even Andre, wild, smuggler-looking fellow as he still 
is, seems pervaded by a sort of tint of gentility ; and Jeanlisse 
keeps on his coat, even in hot weather. All the smart nonsense 
and all the profound philosophy circulated amongst the literary 
men, the patrons, the brother-artists, the friends of the family, 
at one weekly reunion — despite its somewhat bourgeois cha- 
racter — would make a pleasant chapter ; but if I had space I 
would rather record one of those admirable discourses on the his- 
tory of painting which, in quieter days, Jeanron used to pour out 
extempore as he finished off the button-hole of a coat, — for he 
paints portraits, too, and capitally. His " General Cavaignac " 
is admirable; and- that wonderful old head of the banker, M. 
Odier, may rank with the best things of its kind. 

However, I have not space for all these things. The subject 
of the state of Art, and the character and manners of Artists in 
France, would occupy too much space for me to venture on it 
now. I have hinted that, just previously to the coup d'etat, 
almost unconsciously, I had passed from the observation of Stu- 
dent Life, properly so called, to devote myself more to noticing 
the ways of artists. For this purpose, as I may say now — al- 
though, in reality, I had no settled plan — I installed myself in 
the atelier of my friend Alexis, and began to take lessons in 
drawing. My progress was by no means marvellous, for Alexis 
was in one of his idle moods, being more occupied with a cer- 
tain Mademoiselle Euphemie than with his Art. To be sure, 
Art had been a bad friend to him ; and he was reduced to live 
by lithographing those sentimental young ladies and elegant 
youths, to be met with only on the frontispieces of musical pub- 
lications. We used the atelier as a place of rendezvous, and 
consumed therein a vast amount of tobacco and red wine, even 
by day. In the evening there was often a game of rhams ; and 
a demoniacal smoking-match, carried on until it was absolutely 
impossible to see one another across the table. 

One of the worthies most constantly in attendance on these 



A CHARACTER. 419 

occasions was Master Jules, whom I have already mentioned as 
a member of the Club sans Gene. I had not seen him for some 
time, as he had borrowed fifteen francs of me in more jovial days, 
and seemed to have made it a principle to relieve his friends of 
his society as soon as he was indebted to them. I once met him 
in the street. He tried to disappear behind a gendarme ; but, 
small as he was, I descried and hailed him ; upon which he ran 
up, asked me if I was in want of money, and promised, if I 
called any day that week, he would not only pay what he owed 
but lend me more. I said I would call, and accordingly went 
in a day or two to the new address he had given ; feeling, how- 
ever, very doubtful whether that was his real dwelling. The 
porter relieved my mind, to a certain extent, by telling me to 
ascend to the sixth story. When I reached it, I saw " Jules " 
written on the door in large chalk letters, with a request to 
" ring the bell." This, however, was a sneer, as there was no 
such thing. I knocked several times, and was about to retire, 
when suddenly ,the door opened, and a young girl shabbily 
dressed appeared, and requested me to walk in. I complied, 
remembering some confidential information received formerly 
about a beautiful duchess. The room was large, and supplied 
with a cabinet that contained the bed. About the walls were 
plaster casts, skulls, and cross-bones, the accoutrements of a 
National Guard, some pieces of old armour, duelling-pistols, 
foils, masks, and a variety of inscriptions : one of which informed 
the public that Monsieur So-and-So was a hog ; and another 
was composed of the famous words, " Credeville voleur" origi- 
nally written on the walls of Paris by some Rapin, copied 
everywhere — not only in France, but in all Europe — and repro- 
duced on the Great Pyramid ; whilst all the time nobody knew 
who was the individual thus stigmatised ! When first this 
mysterious inscription appeared, and began to be repeated eve- 
rywhere, the government of Louis Philippe was thrown into 
great alarm, imagining it to be the signal of an approaching 



420 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

insurrection. No one, however, has been able, from that time 
to this, to explain the matter ; and posterity must remain in 
doubt both as to the moral character of M. Credeville and even 
as to his very existence. 

The young girl, though she had a tendency to snuffle, and 
seemed by no means clean, was agreeable enough to look at 
from a distance ; and as she sometimes reclined on a divan — 
sometimes bustled about, disarranging rather than arranging 
the furniture — I did not doubt the nature of her relations with 
Jules. At length, seeing that I made no advances to a conver- 
sation, she began to talk in a sadly jumbled way, and unde- 
ceived me to a certain extent. She said that she was a Model, 
and wanted a pair of stays and new shoes — that she liked fine 
dresses — that Jules had employed her, and owed her for three 
sittings — that she had come an hour before, and had been 
promised payment if she would return — that, of course, she 
had returned, and supposed the artist was in search of cash. 
" You young men," she proceeded, " are always obliged to draw 
the devil by the hair. I'll engage you have never paid for that 
paletot of yours." I told her that she was mistaken, upon 
which there was a visible change in her manner. It was clear 
I was no artist ; and she, who looked upon herself as one, and 
partook in all the ideas of the craft, felt ashamed at having 
spoken of domestic matters to a stranger — one not of the 
family. Perhaps I might be a capitalist, come to order a pic- 
ture ! She looked desperately annoyed, and made some awk- 
ward attempts to " rehabilitate " Jules, saying that she was not 
there to dun him — that he always paid very handsomely and 
regularly, though he' was behindhand for once ; and so on. A 
loud laugh interrupted her, and Jules himself made his appear- 
ance, not through the doorway, but from behind a cloak hung 
up in the corner of the room, where he had hid on hearing the 
approach of his creditor. After a little while he got rid of her, 
and then confidentially informed me that, so far from being 



SKETCH OF BASIL. 421 

able to repay what he owed, he should like to find a friend who 
would lend him more. As he immediately afterwards let out 
that he spent most of his time at the cafe of the Rue de Bussy, 
or Bucy, I did not regret being unable to comply with his 
request.. 

Another character whom I used to meet at Alexis's atelier 
was a heavy-looking fellow, whom they called Basil. Many 
young French painters affect an originality in their manner 
which they have not in their mind. Would-be men of genius 
are nearly always lazy. They think this one of the most valu- 
able privileges of their character. My friend Basil belonged to 
this class ; except, perhaps, that he had more talent than the 
world gave him credit for. He lost himself by yielding, to a 
most ridiculous extent, to that absurd habit of some intellectual 
men, of " waiting for inspiration." They wait for inspiration 
sometimes all their lives, and it never comes. The real way is 
to go and fetch it. Basil did not choose to do so. On one occasion 
a friend procured him, partly out of charity, an order from the 
wife of a wealthy banker for a kind of thing in which he excelled 
— a couple of bouquets in water-colours. The money was paid 
in advance three years ago, and the bouquets are not yet in 
bloom. He does not intend to defraud her, but " he wants to 
produce something excellent." He is wating for inspiration. 
His friends tell him that this seems dishonest. He colours, bites 
his lip, and says, " I will set about it," in a deplorably despond- 
ing tone ; but he has not put pencil to paper yet. He has no 
studio of his own, but goes now to one friend's place, now to 
the other, — sometimes with, sometimes without material ; but 
upon almost every occasion he thrusts his hands into his shock 
of hair, and sits down complaining that he has no ideas, no 
inspiration. As may be imagined, he is often in want «of a 
dinner, and is compelled to sponge upon a friend. He went to 
one the other day, and in his heavy, lumbering way, said, " I 
have got no money, and yet I must eat." His friend replied, 



422 PURPLE TINTS OP PARIS. 

" I have only three francs ; you can dine for one — take it. I 
am going to spend the evening with some friends, and must 
have a little extra." " Yes," growled Basil, " you are going to 
amuse yourself. What shall I do ? How shall I spend my 
evening ? I must go to the cafe — let me have ten sous more." 
His friend pitied his miserable look, and gave him the ten 
sous ; but his brother-artists now begin to quote him as an ex_ 
ample to avoid. They say that his laziness has, at length, so 
completely got the upper hand of him, that he is beginning to 
lose even a sense of honour. He ceases to pay his debts when 
he has got money — totally against artist law. They range him, 
therefore, among the Bohemians. He has lately fastened him- 
self upon a good-natured painter, who has a large atelier. He 
sleeps in one corner, wrapped up in a cloak, and pretends to 
work by day. Sometimes a spark comes forth from this inert 
mass, and he dashes off a brilliant piece of colouring, which is 
sure to find an amateur. He has never had patience to learn 
to draw, but his instinctive appreciation of colour causes his 
criticism to be sought for and appreciated by his friends. " Put 
a rocket in there — a streak here — hang the light in this place," 
— such is the kind of language in which he affects to express 
himself. But his observations are generally correct. The other 
day, pitying his destitute condition, a friend wished to introduce 
him to a lady, who offered to pay him ten francs a-lesson for 
teaching her water-colours. But he said that he would not 
work like a cab, at so much the hour. Then they procured 
him an order from a country seigneur to decorate his castle. 
The idea seemed to please him. But he asked five days for 
deliberation. During these five days he disappeared. Nobody 
knew what had become of him. But at length he entered his 
friend's atelier and said, " I have been down to that place. 'Tis 
full of people. I shall not work there. They would bother me. 
Thank you all the same. I am not like a quack dentist, who 
draws teeth before the crowd." Basil will die in a hospital. 



PRACTICAL JOKES. 423 

Artists must be divided into several classes. I mean the 
young artists in- the studios. Two of the most amusing are the 
Loustic and the Eapin. The Loustic is generally an artist 
amateur, that is to say, his parents have property ; they see 
him some day, when a child, take a piece of chalk, or charcoal, 
and scratch the portrait of his father or his schoolmaster. This 
is enough. It is at once determined that a great genius has 
revealed itself. The lad no sooner escapes from college than he 
is sent to a painter's studio. He is supplied with a handsome 
sum of money, and becomes very often the loustic of the 
atelier ; perhaps the most backward in the serious part of his 
art, but clever as a caricaturist, and allowed to take any liberties 
as a- practical joker. 

The Rapin is the servant of the atelier — something equi- 
valent to a fag at a public school. A shabby dress is an essen- 
tial part of his definition. Most probably he has an immense 
bush of hair. He often becomes a clever artist, but no one 
knows how. His duties are to do all the work of the atelier, 
to run of errands, to set the model, &c. He often picks up a 
good deal of knowledge from the conversation of the students 
and ripens in a mysterious manner. Some of the best French 
artists have been rapins in their time, and are proud to own it. 
I notice that those who display most talent are not the perfum- 
ed, finikin gentlemen, acceptable at a court ; but those who 
have something of the ouvrier about them — a sort of rough- 
ness which only sets off their finer qualities. Jacques, one of 
the best engravers that France possesses, is an excellent speci- 
men of a true artist. 

The practical jokes of an atelier are sometimes carried a 
good deal too far. It is the custom for every fresh student topay 
his " footing," as it is called. A rich new-comer once refused 
to comply with this formality. The students bided their time, 
and, when the master was away, seized upon the unfortunate 
recalcitrant, strapped him naked to a ladder, exposed him in the 



424 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

court-yard in the sun for half an hour, then covered him with a 
cloth, and carried him all the way from the Kue de Sevres to 
the Pont Neuf, where they allowed him to wrap himself in the 
cloth, get into a cab, and return home. When the female 
models happen to be lively, rather extraordinary scenes some- 
times take place. Wine is sent for, and the wine-dealer, instead 
of being paid, is made to dance an infernal hornpipe with a 
Bacchante-like model, and to get drunk on his own liquor. 
Many poor artists, having acquired ideas amidst such scenes, 
gain their living somewhat disgracefully by illustrating the 
libertine life of Paris ; and the shops are full of these produc- 
tions, which must have their influence on morals. The scene is 
generally laid in Carnival time. 

There has been a marked change of late years in the cha- 
racter of the great French artists. Formerly their distinctive 
characteristics were a rough originality of character, — some- 
times natural, sometimes affected ; carlessness in costume, im- 
providence, and generosity. The anecdotes related of them 
remind us of the brutal independence of Abernethy. " lis en- 
voyaient promener volontiers ceux qui les embetaient." Now 
things have changed, but it is doubtful if for the better. With 
some few exceptions, the great artists have become time-servers 
— men of the world, genteelly dressed, with finikin manners ; 
but hollow, wanting in sincerity, in passion for their art, and in 
esprit de corps. They are becoming like those English painters 
who shut up their studios for fear their friends should steal their 
ideas ; just as some manufacturers of Manchester or Lyons ob- 
ject to allowing foreigners to go over their works. 

These remarks about modern painters being made in the 
presence of a military man, son of a General of the old Repub- 
lic, he observed that the same change, or degeneracy, had taken 
place in the army. The old entrain, love of glory, enthusiasm, 
fondness for the smell of powder, have disappeared. The sol- 
dier is no longer pre-eminently a fighting animal, but an em- 



CHARACTER OF THE ARMY. 425 

ploye, bent on gaining his salary with as little trouble as possi- 
ble. The heads of the military profession — the Vaillants, the 
Changarniers, the Cavaignacs, the Larnorici^res, are ignorant of 
this state of things ; and, being moved by a sort of historical 
enthusiasm, believe that the old cry of " Glory ! glory ! glory ! 
would suffice. " This," said he, " is a mistake. The old poeti- 
cal courage has disappeared, to make way for a kind of ferocity. 
The soldier is angry against whoever forces him tojight — as 
angry against his chiefs as against the enemy. This explains 
why he massacres after victory — to reverjge the fear he has 
himself experienced. His degeneracy began under Louis Phil- 
ippe, when corruption overtook everybody ; and thus is explain- 
ed, in part, the inefficiency of the army in 1848. In June of 
that year especially — whoever was present at the Ministry of 
War must know that aide-de-camp after aide-de-camp arrived, 
saying, Les troupes ne donnent ^?as. Us n'y a que la Garde 
Mobile qui donne. In December, 1851, the troops massacred 
with rage at being obliged to expose their lives ; and it is well 
known that a whole regiment retreated in disorder three times 
from a barricade defended by thirty men. The same cause ex- 
plains the cruelties of the African wars. If war ever take place 
the troops will fight methodically, because it is their profession ; 
but it will be some time before the heroic feeling gets up. The 
only war that would really be popular would be a descent upon 
England, because there is an impression, that we are defenceless, 
and that there would be an immense booty to get." These 
views are, perhaps, a little exaggerated ; but they seem toler- 
ably well based on facts. At any rate, they are not mere satire, 
but the serious conviction of a very calm thinker. He particu- 
larly insisted on the tendency of the officers to become mere 
employes, expecting advancement from seniority, and calculat- 
ing their receipts just like the clerks in government offices. 



CHAPTEK XXX. 

What I saw of the Coup d'Etat. 

The reader has now some idea of the kind of public amidst 
which I happened to be when, towards the close of 1851, the 
atmosphere- of Paris began once more to be charged with the 
electric fluid of Revolution. Every one was excited, though 
few could explain to themselves why. There was, moreover, 
an unusual element in the excitement, which many people 
scarcely understood. The sentiment of fear now, perhaps, for 
the first time, mingled with the anticipation of a struggle. On 
other occasions, no sooner did the idea of strife present itself, 
however indistinctly, than the whole Parisian population seemed 
pervaded by the martial spirit. The strange fascination of the 
battle-field lured them on. Even lads and women opened wide 
their nostrils to snuff the smell of gunpowder. Fifine helped 
to make cartouches, and Honorine sang of Charlotte la Repub- 
licaine. There was nothing of all this to be noticed during 
the month of November, 1851. Everybody shook their heads, 
and talked of something mysterious that was going to happen ; 
but they did so in the helpless tone of a desert- traveller, who feels 
the first breath of the simoom, and knows that his part is to wrap 
his head in his cloak and wait until the hot tempest has blown 
by. I have heard this terrible impression quoted as a proof of 
the wonderful genius of him who created it ; but Genius im- 
plies a certain amount of heart and soul, and never operates 



427 

with the blind fury of the elements which hurry man to de- 
struction, and stifle the cries of anguish which he sends up to a 
Superior Power. 

I had spent the evening with Alexis and some other friends, 
talking over the political and social prospects of France. The 
various false alarms that had disturbed us for several months, 
had rather restored our confidence than increased our anxiety. 
We began for a moment to hope for the best. The tone of our 
dialogue, accordingly, had been anything but gloomy. We all 
foresaw a period of struggle, more or less prolonged ; but by 
the force of circumstances — by the influence of partialities for 
persons and for doctrines, we had all quitted the vantage- 
ground of indifferent observation, and had been led to enter 
upon one of those sunken roads by which we sometimes pro- 
ceed toward the future without being able to distinguish what 
obstacles are ahead, what ambushes are preparing on either 
hand. Frankly, we were all Republicans ; that is to say, be- 
lievers in the capacity of every man to judge best of his own in- 
terests and his own wants : and foolishly faithful in the average 
honesty of the human species. 

What were the topics of our discussion it would be too long 
to develope. We knew what dangers threatened the institu- 
tions that had recently been established in France. I remem- 
ber being called upon to explain how it happened, that what is 
called the respectable portion of the press in England had united, 
for three whole years, not to criticise in a friendly spirit, but to 
libel, with bitterness and anger, all acts that proceeded from the 
Republican party ; and especially why it was that nearly every 
daily paper, by flattery, by false colouring, by direct or indirect 
praises, by extravagant gratitude for wise actions, and lenient 
interpretations of such as were admitted to be wrong ; above 
all by insidious prophecies ; was encouraging the elected Presi- 
dent of the French Republic, who had sworn to restore intact the 
deposit confided to him, to place himself above the laws and 



428 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

above faith, in order to procure for Europe that repose which 
was believed to be necessary, and which it was thought could 
not be compassed by any other means. I had little to say in 
reply. The facts were indisputable ; and as I could not bring 
myself to admit what I have since become convinced was true 
— namely, that from the year 1848 to the year 1851 there was 
a decided reaction in favour of arbitrary government in Eng- 
land, which would have been capable, had our institutions been 
less happily organised, of encouraging a return to a disgraceful 
period of history, I was obliged to maintain that the line of 
policy adopted by the English press arose entirely from ignor- 
ance, not of the main facts of history, nor of the ordinary rules 
of politics, but of the peculiar circumstances of French civilisa- 
tion, and of French manners and character. Although my 
observation was correct as far as it went, this was but a lame 
defence, and provoked the retort, — "If the English writers 
know nothing of the peculiar circumstances of our condition, 
why do they not argue for us as they would- for themselves ? 
Why do they persist, for example, in becoming the accomplices 
of an imperial conspiracy by giving, on every possible occasion, 
the title of Prince to our President — they who are so ticklish 
about titles, that they will not allow a letter to be addressed to 
a Bishop of Westminster nominated by a foreign power ? " I 
was obliged upon this to say, that owing, in. some measure, to 
the errors and absurdities of the democratic party in France, 
but, in a greater degree, to fear of the progress of a democratic 
party in England, our political writers, without much calculation 
of consequences, were led day by day to praise everything in 
France that seemed to promise a defeat to the Republican party, 
looked upon as the common enemy of Authority. 

' At this point of our discussion Agricole came in, somewhat 
agitated, with an evening paper in his hand. It was the " Ave- 
nement du Peuple," edited by the family of the Hugos and a 
small society of able young men. Its name had previously 



WHAT I SAW OF THE COUP d'eTAT. 429 

been the " Evenement," but under that title it bad been crushed 
by heavy condemnations. Several of its editors — five or six, I 
believe — were in prison. Our young friend pointed out to us 
a paragraph, which stated that there was a report in circulation, 
that on that night or the next day there was to be a coup d'etat 
simultaneously at Paris and at Lyons. " Some members of the 
Republican party," said the journal, " are nervous enough to 
take notice of these reports ; " and then it went on to show, 
perhaps ironically, how utterly impossible it was that Louis 
Napoleon should'thus flagrantly betray the faith which he had 
pledged. These commentaries agreed so far with our own 
opinions, and we had been so often alarmed by the cry of 
" wolf" before, that we all set about calming the excitement of 
Agricole, declaring that, although it was possible that such 
criminal designs were harboured, it was, on the other hand, still 
more probable that any flagitious attempt of the kind would 
be prevented by fear of a tremendous outburst of public indig- 
nation. We separated in a state of mind in which uneasiness 
and confidence were curiously blended. 

This was on the evening of the 1st of December, 1851 ; 
so that, as we were wending our way homeward, a man, not 
many years before described in a police document as " one 
metre seventy-eight centimetres in height, with hair and eye- 
brows of light chestnut, ordinary forehead^ grey eyes, large nose, 
middling mouth, round chin, and oval face ; " whom we knew 
to exceed most persons in knowledge of London life ; who had, 
until recently, been looked upon as an enthusiastic adventurer ; 
who had suddenly been chosen as its representative by a nation 
that knew not its own wants, and immediately afterwards elected 
a hostile Assembly ; who had dallied with all parties, made 
promises on every side, but who had discovered the great politi- 
cal secret, that there being no such thing as truth, an oath is a 
mere bait, a wriggling worm on a hook ; — whilst, I say, we 
strolled severally towards our homes, this man, bravely making 



430 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

use of the. only instruments he could find, and regretting that 
their morality was such that even France must twit them, was 
preparing to mate himself master— ^-absolute, uncontrolled mas- 
ter — of one of the finest countries in the world, with all the 
people, crops, forests, that thereon do grow. The prize was 
worth -struggling for. Ail mean compunctions were set aside ; 
and Louis Napoleon must have indeed felt that he was a great 
man, if he really foresaw that, within a day or two, thirty-five 
millions of men — with some few imprudent exceptions — would 
grovel before him and admit his right to dispose- absolutely of 
their lives, their property, and their honour. It is useless to 
stigmatise such a man with the name of Tyrant. He is not a 
tyrant ; he is France — France incarnated. All the rest is mere 
semblance. Such were not my thoughts as I went to sleep 
that night ; for I had been so long mixed up with a particular 
class of ardent believers in liberty, that it seemed to me impos- 
sible that an usurpation could succeed. 

Next morning I was up rather late, and yet waited unrea- 
sonably long for breakfast. When it came, I was told that 
a baker had delayed bringing the bread on account of the 
emeutes. Similar reasons had been so often given before, that I 
omitted to ask for an explanation, imd shortly afterwards went 
down into the streets : it was ten o'clock, and, to my surprise, 
they were almost empty. A few people were walking very 
rapidly in various directions, not in twos or threes, but one by 
one. They seemed to avoid each other. All were pale and 
anxious. The word emeute came to my mind ; but this, thought 
I, is not the usual physiognomy of Paris in a time of insurrec- 
tion. When the people fly to arms, the streets are generally 
filled with eager and excited groups, crowding round some 
orator who undertakes to read aloud and comment on an article 
in a newspaper. It seems rather as if some great catastrophe, 
some national disaster, had come to pass, or as if some frightful 
pestilence had declared itself during the night. The only other 



431 

comparison that suggested itself, was that of a South American 
town in the old buccaneering times, when Captain Morgan was 
reported in the offing. The sentiment that crept into my mind, 
reflected, as it were, from the faces that hurried by, was one of 
fear. I could not understand the prostration that came over 
me. On reaching the corner of the Rue de Lille, I saw a man 
reading a proclamation on white paper pasted on the wall, and 
yet damp from the brush. I went towards him, and he slunk 
away immediately, and left the place clear for me. A single 
glance explained the whole mystery. Louis Napoleon had dis- 
solved the National Assembly, and declared himself Dictator. 
Another person was coming along the pavement, and instinc- 
tively I made way for him, and went towards my house, under- 
standing, for the first time, what was meant by a Reign of 
Terror. 

It was evident at once, by the tone partly of the proclama- 
tion, but still more from the manner in which it had been re- 
ceived, what was to be the principle of the new order of things 
if it contrived to last. Throwing aside all ideas of right, by the 
very manner of its appearance it could only exist by naked 
violence, by appealing to the meanest sentiments of our nature 
• — the love of life, merely for the sake of life and of the material 
enjoyments it allows ; the fear of death, as the only evil which 
we are bound to shun. All the proclamations which covered the 
walls that day and the following ones combined to produce this 
state of mind. The object of the Dictator was to stifle at once 
the opposition that might arise from what virtue and enthusiasm 
was still left in France. We all know that time is required to 
work up a people to the defence of its rights, of its dignity, or 
even of its prejudices. It was resolved that this time should 
not be given. The slightest attempt at discussion was to be 
punished at once. " Kill ! kill ! kill ! " this was the panacea 
adopted. It had its effect. And the impression of abject fear 
produced on the minds of the vast majority of that gallant 



432 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

nation of France was so great, that it has not yet disappeared. 
I know individuals who still continue physically to tremble from 
the horror produced at that time. 

A hand touched me on the shoulder. I turned round with 
a start. It was Alexis. " Come home after me," said he. The 
word after was expressive. It meant, that if we talked together 
we might be taken for conspirators. I followed him at a little 
distance, and in a turn or two reached the door of his house. 
A lad of seventeen came running out, with sparkling eyes and 
face flushed with excitement. " Where are you going ? " said 
Alexis. " To fetch my gun," he cried. He was too young as 
yet to feel the craven feeling which was creeping over the 
whole mind of France. " Come in," muttered we ; " let us 
talk." Our solemn faces chilled his enthusiasm, and we went 
up together into the atelier, which we found had been chosen 
as a rendezvous by several young men ; most of those who had 
spent the evening with us, and several others. The artists were 
all sitting before easels, pretending to draw or to paint. The 
others, two law-students and a dramatic writer, formed a group 
round the stove. Alexis looked rather uneasy at this assemblage, 
and muttered something against his porter for having given the 
key in his absence. The idea of self-preservation, so fatal to 
energetic resolutions, had forced itself even into his mind. 
However, by the mysterious effect of contact, the whole of our 
little party soon resumed its Republican attitude. One was * 
placed at the door to listen if any one came up-stairs, whilst 
the others discussed the events of the night, as yet imperfectly 
known. From time to time one or two went down into the 
street to gather the rumors that were flying about. I shall 
never forget that meeting. We were eight or ten of us. The 
room was but half-lighted, partly because the weather was dis- 
mal, partly because the curtains were purposely let down. The 
details of the discussion, however, are not so completely fixed 
on my memory, because the principal incident is too strongly 



WHAT I SAW OF THE COUP D'ETAT. 4 S3 

impressed. About an hour after our assembling, several of the 
young men were employed in melting balls from a piece of 
lead, which had been hidden ever since the days of June 
behind an old chest of drawers. There was no longer any 
conversation, but one of the party, sometimes sitting, sometimes 
half-rising, with his hands outstretched and turned down, as if 
to allay the sound of the voices, was singing the " Marseillaise " 
in an under tone. When they came to the chorus, there was 
now and then a dangerous burst upon the words " Aux armes f " 
after which the rest was rather hissed and muttered than sung. 
The light of a little earthenware furnace, over which they were 
melting the lead in a soup-ladle, glared upon the pale faces of 
the conspirators. 

Suddenly, a rapid step was heard on the staircase. The 
materials of war were hidden with a most undignified hurry. 
The painters rushed to their easels, and the others began to load 
their pipes with pallid indifference. Some one knocked, and a 
well-known voice asked for admission. A tall, elegant young 
man, came in, with his hands thrust deep into the pockets of 
his paletot. He seemed as if he wanted to get rid of them 
altogether. " It is all up," said he, when the door was closed. 
" Les ouvrfers ne donnent pas " — (The workmen don't give, or 
act). He then showed his hands, covered with dirt and blood. 
He had been employed with some few others in going from 
place to place beginning barricades, tearing up the paving-stones 
with his hands, and expecting that, as of old, the workmen, 
once the example set, would come out to complete and man 
them. They had not done so ; for they, likewise, were fright- 
ened. 

This news seemed to freeze, as well it might, the souls of 
my companions, and another incident that now occurred put an 
end for the time to all ideas of resistance. The heavy tramp 
of cavalry was heard in the streets, and one of us, venturing to 
look out, saw a patrol of some ten or twelve horse come up 
20 



434 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

and halt exactly in front of the house. The idea of treachery 
at once suggested itself. It was thought that we were about 
to be arrested, and, perhaps, shot at once. This, however, was 
a false alarm. It suggested the following observation from one 
of the law-students : — " Gentlemen, it has been calculated that 
every fifth man in France is a spy. "We are ten of us here. 
There are two spies amongst us. Let us separate." 

In a few minutes I and Alexis were left alone. We tried 
to forget what was passing, and began to draw. Shortly after- 
wards there was a great murmur in the streets ; and, looking 
out, we saw for the first time that day a crowd, all moving ra- 
pidly in one direction. Alexis immediately exclaimed : " The 
storm is rising. We were too quickly frightened." Obeying 
an irresistible impulse, we ran down bare-headed and joined 
the crowd, which carried us up the Rue des Saints Peres, to- 
wards the Mairie of the Tenth Arrondissement. It thickened 
as we went on, and slackened in its motions, beginning to col- 
lect into a dense mass. I caught a glimpse, however, of a 
number of gentlemen, with red scarfs across their shoulders, 
moving in rather a disorderly manner towards the Mairie. 
Their passage continued some time, and then the gates were 
shut. We did not communicate with any one. .No one 
seemed to like to speak to his neighbour. However, by vari- 
ous exclamations as well as by our knowledge of what was 
likely to take place, we understood that a large proportion of 
the National Assembly, after having been beaten and insulted 
and spit upon by the drunken soldiery in endeavouring to gain 
admission into their usual place of Meeting, had adjourned 
thither, in the hope of converting the Mairie into a new Salle 
du Jeu de Paume. From what now took place, I understood 
how far the usurpation was supported by other means than 
terror. The whole crowd was composed evidently of Repub- 
licans, who did not scruple to talk, after they had been a little 
time collected together, of perjury and tyranny ; and yet they 



what i saw of th:: coup d'etat. 435 

were not assembled there from any sympathy with those inside. 
On the contrary, instead of working up their minds to opposi- 
tion, they seemed to accept what had taken place as a decree 
of destiny, and to derive great consolation under their misfor- 
tune from the fact that the rabble of sham politicians, who 
smarted most severely in their vanity from what had taken 
place, but who had brought it about by their wretched intrigues 
and want of common foresight, had collected there to compro- 
mise their dignity by a ridiculous semblance of resistance. 
During the deliberation that went on inside, a rather comical 
incident occurred. The Marquis de la Rochejaquelin rolled his 
burly form through the crowd, saying : " Be quiet, my children. 
All is right ; this won't last twenty-four hours." At length a little 
window on 4he first floor opened, and a man with a large face 
and lofty forehead made his appearance, and rnotioned for si- 
lence. He was immediately recognised as Berryer, the great 
orator of the Legitimist party. The people accordingly began 
to shout " Vive la JRepublique ! " refusing at first to listen to 
him ; for every one knew that he was one of the arch-conspira- 
tors against the Constitution which he had been elected to de- 
fend, and which he now only wished to defend because it had 
been violated by another than himself. At last, however, he was 
allowed to make himself heard, and it was really a pleasure to 
%ear this great sophist, after trying to dazzle the assemblage by 
a few fine phrases, compelled by the significant observations 
cast up to him by lads and women in the crowd — compelled, 
in order to secure a little attention — to say emphatically that 
he appeared there to speak in the name of Universal Suffrage, 
which he had laboured to destroy, and of the Republic which 
he had conspired to overthrow. A shout, half of irony, half of 
applause, greeted this declaration, and then the orator went on 
to pronounce the downfall of the Usurper, and to tell the peo- 
ple that the National Assembly, collected there in sufficient 
numbers for deliberation, had appointed a Commander-in-Chief 



436 PURPLE TINTS OP PARIS. 

for all the troops in and about Paris. There was a movement 
of curiosity. Some expected the name of Cavaignac ; but Ber- 
ryer turned pompously round, and pointing to a fussy-looking 
little gentleman by his side, named General Oudinot. There 
was a shout of laughter, and from all sides flew up the single 
word, " Rome ! Rome ! " The great Party of Order worthily 
closed its career by this ridiculous nomination, which proved 
them to be absolutely, miserably ignorant of the state of public 
feeling. At this moment the room from which Berry er had 
spoken was filled with chasseurs, who had obtained admission, 
I know not how, so intensely had I been listening. The orator 
and the general were dragged back, and bayonets appeared in 
their place. I now perceived that the crowd had considerably 
diminished, and was rapidly flowing off in various directions. 
Our enthusiasm had also again subsided ; and Alexis, noticing 
that we were both bare-headed, whispered to me to stroll away, 
which I did. 

On returning to my lodgings, I found some rather unex- 
pected visitors — Fifine and Agricole. From them I learned 
that matters were looking very serious towards the Carrefour de 
Bussy, where an attempt at a barricade had been made. Peo- 
ple were running about like birds before a storm. Fifine was 
a thorough Republican, of course ; and had distinguished her- 
self in the days of June, at some risk to herself, by scraping lint 
for the insurgents as well as for the Party of Order. On the 
present occasion she was in a state of great excitement, partly 
from indignation, directed a good deal against the men, the 
Beard Wearers, who allowed themselves to be disposed of in 
this summary manner ; partly from fear lest Agricole might 
come to mischief. He had been polishing up his pistols ; but 
I could easily see that he was not very warlike at that precise 
moment. Like most of his class, he had been demoralised by 
a succession of useless struggles ; and observed, very properly, 
that it was scarcely worth while to overthrow one government 



WHAT I SAW OF THE COUP d'eTAT. 43? 

if the country had not talent and honesty enough to stand by 
another. I soon learned that, as there might be some warm 
work in the direction where they lived, the loving couple had 
determined to come to my quiet quarters, and spend the night, 
if necessary, in playing whist or piquet, or moaning over the 
fate of France. 

I do not intend to give even an otline of the extraordinary 
scene in history which was then taking place ; but simply to 
note what I observed of the changes of public feeling. There 
were several reports of the erection of barricades during the 
first day ; for although, as I have said, the greater portion of 
the population were stupified and overwhelmed with fear, there 
were found in the ranks of the middle and educated classes 
some men sufficiently virtuous and generous to sacrifice their 
lives — although they must have felt that it was in vain — in or- 
der that so great a violation of law and justice might not pass 
without an armed protest. It is, perhaps, needless to insist on 
the fact, that the £meute during these fatal days of December 
was begun by the Government against the Constitution, freely 
established by an Assembly, which had emanated from univer- 
sal suffrage, which had gained a great victory over insurrection, 
and was supported by a popular general, the whole of the army, 
and the National Guard. I shall merely notice, to deplore it,- 
the fact that the English Ambassador then in Paris, Lord JSTor- 
manby, since deservedly removed from the political scene, ig- 
noring all these facts, actually wrote, whilst the streets of Paris 
were yet streaming with blood, to congratulate the Dictator on 
what he called his " victory over the Reds : " thus wilfully 
throwing a stigma (for the word red is understood as such in 
England) upon the only men who still retained any active vir- 
tue in France. If this communication was not a mere act of 
diplomatic servility, the person who wrote it, and the party 
that applauded it in England, would be perfectly ready with 
their shouts for Mr. Disraeli, for example, should he put himself 
20* 



438 PURPLE TINTS OP PARIS. 

at the head of the Horse Guards, to clear out both houses of Par- 
liament, and thrust the Queen into Hanwell ! The fact that 
this supposition is absurd, renders the reception of the coup 
d'etat by some Englishmen still more criminal. We are quite 
sure of our own liberty — why should we not applaud the de- 
struction of the liberty of our neighbours? The French are 
fond of accusing us of Machiavelism ; and when they read the 
articles translated from the English papers in favour of the coup 
d'etat — none other were allowed to be published — they began 
to say that the English were delighted at their abasement, for 
the same reason that a merchant might be delighted at the 
bankruptcy of a rival house. They were mistaken. The admi- 
ration of a small sect of statesmen and a small political party in 
England for the acts of Louis Napoleon, arose only from that 
stupid veneration of power and success, which is the province 
of human nature upon which tyranny always makes its first 
attacks. 

Towards evening, Paris somewhat recovered the elasticity 
of its mind. The attempts at resistance had been partial and 
unsuccessful. The troops had marched, or rather reeled, from 
one end of the city to the other, and had found no enemy. The 
people, hearing no roar of cannon, no roll of musketry, began 
to venture out of their houses, and make for the Boulevards. 
I went with a small party — Fifine, Agricole, Alexis, and Basil 
— in that direction. The entrance to the Carrousel was stop- 
ped up by lines of soldiers. Artillery occupied the Place. We 
walked round by St. Germain l'Auxerrois to the Palais Royal. 
The court was filled with soldiers, bivouacking in the open air. 
They had lighted great fires, round which they crowded, en- 
gaged in cooking their supper. Everything showed that Paris 
was in the hands of a Prsetorian insurrection. There was a 
constant stream of people flowing towards the Boulevards. 
When we reached them, they were absolutely crammed from 
side to side. No vehicles were in motion. A great proportion 



WHAT I SAW OF THE COUP D'ETAT. 439 

of the crowd were collected in dense serried groups. We went 
from one to the other, and generally found a couple of men en- 
gaged in discussing the great event, whilst the others listened 
eagerly. I was surprised to find here no trace of the abject 
fear of the morning. The people seemed to have rubbed their 
eyes, and awakened as from a dream. They could scarcely be- 
lieve the possibility of what had happened. The words, " per- 
jurer," " usurper," " tyrant," were bandied about, as freely as if 
there were nothing to dread. The uppermost feeling, however, 
seemed not to be anger, but contempt. There were more jokes 
than menaces. The general impression was, that it was impos- 
sible so violent an act could be tolerated for more than twenty- 
four hours ; and that as soon as France had time to collect its 
ideas, it would shake off so stupid an usurpation with the ut- 
most ease. Two or three, perhaps a dozen individuals, in the 
vast crowd through which we passed, from the Rue Vivienne 
to the Porte Saint Martin, ventured to raise their voices in fa- 
vour of the coup d'etat. They were instantly silenced — some 
by laughter and jeers, others by the more expeditious method 
which is technically called, I believe, " bonneting." One indi- 
vidual had the skirt of his coat torn off, and ran away, whilst 
a gamin followed at his heels, offering to restore it. At the 
Cafe Tortoni a white-bearded gentleman tried to make a speech, 
recommending, with great moderation, that Louis Napoleon 
should be allowed time to explain his intentions. A crowd of 
some five or six hundred people, mostly in black coats, roared 
him down ; and he was fain to escape into the interior cafe, 
pursued by the epithets of " Ratapoil" " Casse-majou" which 
were the nick-names that had previously been applied to the 
Bonapartists. The same cry was kept up all along the Boule- 
vards whenever any insinuation was attempted in favour of the 
coup d'etat. Just as we reached the Porte Saint Denis we saw, 
on the top of the slope behind us, a mass of sparkling objects, 
and a dense and regular crowd. A column of infantry was 



440 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

marching down, amidst a perfect hurricane of exclamations on 
either hand. We could not, at first, distinguish what was said, 
but the cry came on with the column ; and when its .head was 
opposite to us, every voice around, without exception, was shout- 
ing, " A has le tyran ! a has le parjure ! " The crowd press- 
ed up so close upon the soldiers that at one time they were ob- 
liged to halt and present bayonets, to avoid being trampled 
down. Had the people broken in upon the ranks at that mo- 
ment, affairs would have taken a very different turn ; but the 
officer in command prudently extricated his men from their po- 
sition, and marched up the Rue du Faubourg Saint Denis. 

It was the experience of that evening that convinced the 
new Government that, although threatening words and vigor- 
ous political acts might strike terror for a time into all, and per- 
manently silence some, yet that, in order to demoralise the na- 
tion completely, it was necessary that blood should be shed in 
a sufficiently public and unscrupulous manner to produce the 
impression that they were determined to shrink from nothing. 
Then was formed the scheme of that bloody massacre by which 
on the next day but one, Paris was frightened into a submission, 
from which it has not yet escaped. The details of this horrible 
scene have been so often given, that I shall not here reproduce 
them. They are known by every one, or should be known. I 
make this proviso, because I meet some people who still affect 
to disbelieve in the fact of a massacre, and who pretend that 
the whole affair was an ordinary emeute. To convince these 
skeptics is, perhaps, impossible. However, the official returns of 
the killed on the army side are eloquent. They state that only 
twenty-four soldiers and one officer lost their lives ; whilst the 
lowest estimate of the loss on the side of the supposed insur- 
gents is a thousand. In all other cases, when the people have 
fought behind barricades, their loss has been less than that of 
the troops. 

I think it right to mention one or two curious circumstances 



WHAT I SAW OF THE COUP d'eTAT. 441 

connected with this tragical event. A column of infantry and 
cavalry, several thousand in number, was passing through the 
street in which I lived. A single man, half-intoxicated, came 
out of a cabaret, and cried, " Vive la Republique ! " which ex- 
pression, by the way, headed every proclamation of the Gov- 
ernment, and yet was esteemed a seditious cry. A soldier seiz- 
ed the man by the collar, and dragged him along. An officer 
on horseback soon afterwards rode up, and said, " What the 
devil do we want with prisoners ? Shoot him at once ! " The 
man was accordingly taken into the Rue Jacob and shot ; and 
before the roll of the wheels of the artillery that followed the 
column had died away in the direction of the Rue Taranne, the 
body had disappeared, and a neighbouring butcher had strewed 
sawdust over the pool of blood left behind. The Government 
accounts of the transaction state, that the victory which gave 
Lord -Normanby so much pleasure was completely gained by 
four o'clock in the afternoon. If this be the case, how does it 
happen that, from eight o'clock in the evening until eleven, I 
stood at my window, and heard constantly platoon firing in va- 
rious directions — at the Carrousel and towards the Champs de 
Mars ? The people say — but I have never yet been able to as- 
certain the exact truth — that these sounds indicated the execu- 
tion of the prisoners, who were brought down by hundreds to 
the two places I have mentioned. When I passed through the 
Carrousel next day, there was an immense space, about a hun- 
dred feet across, covered thick with ashes and cinders, which 
everybody avoided, hastening by without looking that way. 
The popular report, therefore, may have been true. At any 
rate, it served the purpose, with a hundred similar ones, of bend- 
ing down the public mind under the weight of fear. The ob- 
ject of the Government was gained. All the ties of connection, 
all the channels of communication, by means of which a spirit 
of opposition might have been formed, were severed. The popu- 
lation of Paris was reduced to a collection of units, each occu- 



442 " PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

pied by the care of its own preservation, each avoiding every 
intercourse beyond what was strictly necessary for life. Friends 
ceased to see friends ; relations became circumspect in their 

calls upon relations. I went to see M. , and was told by 

his wife that he was out of town. He came after me when I 
was half-way down stairs, and begged me not to call again. 
One person whispered to me that a gendarme, who lived close 
by, had been seen going out in the dress of a priest. Many 
women were said to be employed as spies. Not a day passed 
but some individual of ill-omened aspect made inquiries about 
one of one's porter. Everything that might compromise was 
speedily put out of sight. I had a complete collection of the 
works of Proudhon. Some kind soul, I could never discover 
whom, though I might suspect, destroyed it: and this exagge- 
rated fear went so far, that there was a general razzia in the 
house on all good books, pistols, and other explosive articles. 

It would be too long, however, to enumerate all circum- 
stances of this kind, illustrative of the miserable downhearted- 
ness to which Paris • was reduced. Meanwhile the provinces had 
flown hastily, without any preparation or concert, to arms, and 
were being put down one by one, with circumstance of more or 
less barbarity. It was impossible to repeat the scene of the 
Boulevards everywhere, but it was necessary that terror should 
be general. According to the Government papers, some atro- 
cities were committed in agricultural districts ; and a M. Cau- 
vain, writing in the " Constitutional," had the audacity to talk 
of children being thrown alive into furnaces ! The favourite 
epithet which these hired libellers applied to the Republicans 
who rallied round the Constitution, was that of Cannibals. I 
believe some acts of barbarity were committed, though, of 
course, nothing to equal the scene on the Boulevards. Great effect 
was produced by the statement, that the wife of the Prefect of 
the Nievre had been violated in the public place of Clamecy ; 
and the Government would not allow that unfortunate gentle- 



WHAT I SAW OF THE COUP D ETAT. 443 

man to publish the fact that he had never been married at all. 
Not only so, but the odious invention was introduced into a 
huge calumny in oil, and exhibited at the last exposition of 
paintings ! 

At length came out the famous proclamation, by which 
every person who was at that time, or ever had been, member 
of a secret society, was condemned to transportation beyond the 
seas ! In this way at least two millions of persons were made 
liable to exile ; and as there was to be no judgment, it was felt 
that the Government intended to reserve to itself the power of 
transporting whoever should be bold enough to offer any oppo- 
sition. The terror that spread in the then condition of minds 
may easily be imagined ; and no other explanation than this is 
required of the immense majority that voted " Yes" a. few days 
afterwards, and that in the very provinces most menaced, on 
the spots where the Government papers laid the scene of a my- 
thological Jacquerie, the people voted unanimously with open 
bulletins for the usurpation. Every one was afraid of being 
transported. 

It is customary to praise Louis Napoleon for the admirable 
.manner in which he carried out the plans which he had previously 
laid down. The fact is, that he proceeded in a totally different 
manner from what he had intended, and worked with different 
instruments upon different elements. He believed himself to 
be more popular in Paris than he really was, but expected a 
more vigorous armed resistance. He anticipated that the ma- 
jority of the country would vote against him, and therefore 
began by announcing the suppression of the ballot, and by 
ordering the people to come up and openly say " Yes" or " No" 
under the bayonets of his soldiers. When, however, he saw 
that it was possible to frighten the whole nation out of all ideas 
of honour and liberty, he determined to enjoy the pleasure of 
an apparently free election ; and, during a whole fortnight, 
directed his efforts solely to deepen and strengthen the feeling 



444 PURPLE TINTS OF PARIS. 

of terror throughout the whole length of the land. I know 
that at the election there was much fraud and much violence. 
The voters were marshalled into columns by the priests and the 
mayors, and headed by a few of the most enthusiastic Bona- 
partists, who pinned their bulletins to their hats, and thus by 
example compelled the others to do likewise ; for whoever hesi- 
tated was instantly assailed with the accusation of Socialism, 
and threatened with transportation. However, the great feature 
of the election of December 20th, 1851, was, that men who 
had previously belonged to different parties ; who had conspired 
with Barbes and Sobrier ; who had shouted at the heels of 
Louis Blanc ; who had adored Ledru Rollin ; who had looked 
upon M. Baze as the incarnation of parliamentary integrity ; 
who had talked treason with M. Thiers ; who regretted M. 
Guizot ; who had worn medals of Henri Cinq ; who had inva- 
riably — such was their power of appreciation — treated Louis 
Napolen as a Cretin ; — all went up together, abjuring their pre- 
judices, their ideas, and their faith, under the influence of that 
degrading sentiment of Fear, and voted themselves a Master — 
gave themselves up absolutely, unconditionally, into the power 
of one man. This is a great lesson. It teaches us how little 
influential after all is civilisation upon mankind ; how slight a 
hold have upon us the acquired ideas of honour, of justice, of 
liberty, of duty, of devotion, and everything that makes man 
respectable ; how near a citizen, prepared to die for his country, 
is to the savage flying from his own shadow in a wood, or start- 
ing at the creaking of a bough moved by the wind I 

I had intended — in what, perhaps, would have been a some- 
what pedantic adherence to my title — to give an outline of the 
events of French history since 1851, and an analysis of the 
proceedings of the Imperial Government. It is almost impos- 
sible, however, to obtain information concerning contemporary 
doings that will not instantly be disputed, perhaps disproved. 
Under the present circumstances of France, moreover, it would 



445 

be idle to record more than impressions. From the commence- 
ment of the Dictatorship all criticism on public matters has 
been suppressed. We are compelled to .rely on official repre- 
sentations, necessarily not credible; or on rumours that find 
their way abroad by no one knows what channels, and cannot 
be implicitly depended on. Louis Napoleon pays the usual 
penalty of all who gag the press. The most frightful accusa- 
tions are made against him and his supporters, and are believed, 
because no discussion is allowed. Even under the Eepublic, 
the Party of Order *as it called itself, had begun the war against 
the pen — a sure sign that it meditated tyranny. Under the 
Empire, a universal silence broods over the country, broken only 
by voices that call aloud and find belief nowhere. The distin- 
guishing characteristic of French society at this moment is avi- 
dity for intelligence coupled with complete scepticism. They 
listen because they want some excitement, but give no heed to 
what they hear ; and go from one to the other with vacant faces, 
still asking, " What news ? what news ?" 

What can be new to them now 3 They have tried all forms 
of government, and found not one adapted to them. Too idle 
for liberty and too corrupt ; with many fine qualities and finer 
aspirations ; they are compelled to lie down awhile under a des- 
potism which claims, though in every place and at every time 
it does not exercise the right, to interfere with then opinions and 
even their pleasures ; to prescribe what they shall think, where 
they shall eat, at what age their daughters may dance ; which 
levies taxes on them by means of an Assembly virtually nomi- 
nated by itself; and which acknowledges no control, though 
control is, of course, exercised in an indirect manner by public 
opinion. The government of Napoleon IIL may be called a 
tyranny tempered with wit. It can afford to commit any act of 
violence, but dare not be ridiculous. Truly the example of 
France is a great lesson ; but instead of teaching what interested 
sophists would have us believe — that political rights should only 
21 



446 PURPLE TINTS OP PARIS. 

be granted when it is impossible to refuse them — it teaches that 
we should make haste to accustom as many classes as possible to 
the exerc'se of liberty — and there can be no liberty for a man 
whose affairs are transacted as a privilege by others, since we 
cannot always depend for our salvation on the virtue of the 
Upper Ranks of Society, 



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